Runaway
by Rubicon 9 Of Hearts
Summary: Alone. That's what he's always been, but not even with his ability could he have seen this underlineing outcome, or how utterly alone he would be in those days to come. AU in which all the stitchpunks are alive.
1. So Alone

**Yay! School's out! And as such, because it's summer, I will be bringing some summer stories to you, like this one. **

**Now, I'm not sure how this one got into my head, but I've been pretty obsessed with it. I guess it was because I was listening to a bunch of songs by a band called July Skies. Anyways, I've also been meaning to write something for a while that involves 6 ('cause I luvz him~). Originally, this was going to be a two-shot, but then I elaborated on it a bit more in my head. **

**Enjoy~! Feel free to leave a reveiw. And, I do not own 9.**

Chapter 1: So Alone

Up in the alcove, in the shadows of the library, there was a semi-dark room. All of this dark haunted every square inch, every nook and cranny. Ink and papers litters the wood floor and countless drawings hung on the walls, mostly of one thing. It was circular in shape and was engraved with odd symbols. Often, ink would drip from the sketches, not that the ink stood out. There was much in here, in inkwells and stains in some areas. The artist who sketched these, he too bared the marks of his work.

Speaking of which, there was only one residence of the room, and said resident was just waking from a fitful nap.

His ink-stained fingers twitched, and his mismatched eyes of different sizes clicked open, slowly but surely. The small stitchpunk let out a low groan and pushed himself up into a sitting position on his makeshift bed. He had been thankful he had even _gotten any _sleep. With visions constantly bombarding his mind, it was hard to sleep with out being trapped in any delusional nightmares.

The name of this stitchpunk, this wandering artist, was as clear as day; 6. His name was clearly marked on his back, everyone knowing his name. This small stitchpunk- not much taller than certain twin scholars- was made of a striped flannel. There were tuffs of yarn sticking atop his head, which served as his hair, a characteristic none of the others had. No one else held a key around their neck ether though, one that had stayed with 6 for as long as he could remember. Well, he was meant to be unique, the last of the Scientist's creativity.

However, would you call unique what he calls a terrible gift?

6 could see, and by that meaning he could _see_ things no one else could. The seer was the only stitchpunk like this, isolated in his own little world of visions and drawings. Whenever, wherever, the visions came, he would draw them. The intricate patters formed in 6's mind, and he would grab paper and ink, dipping his hands in the black liquid and draw what he saw on paper. Funny, and perhaps ironic, thing was, 6's fingers were pen nibs, which aided in his process of drawing. This way and no other was the artist's way of interpretation.

Oh, but time and time again, he would try so hard to make them see. He wanted the others to understand, but yet they didn't. They just ignored him, almost as if he was invisible to the world. 6 had tried over and over, through so many different ways, to show them. He _needed _to show them. Each failed attempt however would only break the small stitchpunk further. After a while, he started to think it was hopeless. They thought 6 was crazy, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was telling them the truth! The things to come were right there, but they refused to listen to anything he had to offer! Sure, 6 might admit that he was a bit childish, but he didn't want to be seen as insane. Many a time had insanity threaten to trap him inside his torn mind, but 6 never gave into it, thinking, believing…hopping, that there will be a time when they'll have to listen to him. But when would that day ever come? Would it ever come?

Rubbing the back of his head, the young striped stitchpunk stretched his stiff limbs, the mechanical joints coming to life once more. Afterwards, 6 yawned and pushed his blanket from him, swinging his legs out over the bed.

"Nnn…" The artist's voice was soft and quiet. "W-what time is it?"

Ah, now he remembered. 6 had taken a nap, exhausted from drawing for so long. You couldn't blame him, it wasn't like he could help it. This habit, this impulse, it was like an uncontrollable urge. The things he saw inside his head needed to be draw, lest he be devoured by them. It hurt to try and keep them bottled up inside his small, frail body. Even if 6 tried with all his might to hold them in, it would only build to a point where they would start to cause the seer pain; Internal pain that crippled him.

Looking over at the stack of paper, 6 frowned and stood from his bed, walking over to it.

"Small. Getting fewer." He said, with only himself to hear. "I need more."

6 then checked the ink while he was at it. The ink, on the other hand was alright, plenty left for him to work with when he needed it. How is it that he was well stocked on ink, but not paper?

Lowly sighing in frustration, 6 knew he would have to venture out to find more, not like anyone would notice at all. The trouble was of where to find it. Perhaps the twins, 3 and 4, could be of some help to his mission. They would simply show him without hesitation, and then return to their studies, soon forgetting that 6 was there. 3 and 4 did show some sense of paying attention to the artist, but, like the others, 6 knew that they didn't fully acknowledge him and saw him as just a weak sitichpunk who was nothing but insane. Sometimes 6 did feel like he was drowning in his lost sanity.

Nervously, the striped stitchpunk poked his head out from the doorway, looking out into the space before him to see if there were any others outside. It wasn't like he was intimidated by any other member of his family, but two certain stitch punks did frighten him a bit; 1 and 8. They seemed to be the one's who detested him the most, especially since this battered artist served as 8's personal punching bag.

Assuming that there was no one around, 6 took a careful, hesitant step out of his shelter and walked out into the expansive library.

Judging by the light as he walked along, 6 could only assume that it was mid-afternoon. How long had he been napping? Then again, the artist would lose track of time very easily. The only thing he did in the alcove was draw and try to sleep, so it was only natural he didn't have a fix on time.

As he continued on, finding his way down to the lower floors, his steps made quiet echoes on the cold floor, whether it be wood or stone. Thus far, he had not encountered any of the others, which, to 6, meant he could enjoy this silence a bit longer. He did always like it when things were quiet. The silence seemed to comfort him, the only other invisible, undetected presence around him. Sometimes, 6 did feel invisible, only because he could go unnoticed. A person might say that his seemingly invisible presence was more stealth. One day, such a skill might serve him good. It might even save his life.

"Where to search?" 6 said to himself, wandering into another room. Around him, books littered the floor. These would not do, for the pages were filled with words and 6 would not dare to defile such things.

Rounding a corner, he saw the twins gazing in wonder at an odd shaped light bulb. And, much to his surprise, 9 was there too. 6 turned his eyes downward, but not before 9 and the twins saw him.

"Hey, 6." 9 called over. The artist just waved his hand slightly in reply. "How are you?"

"Fine." 6 solemnly answered. "Just searching."

"For what?"

"Paper. Running low."

9 chuckled. "Oh, I see. I'll help you find some."

The twins nodded vigorously, putting in their services as well, and 6 smiled. "Thank you."

With 9 leading point, 3 and 4 dragged 6 onward as they began the search for the paper the artist was so desperately in need of.

For the next half hour, up and down the library, the small group searched for paper. 6 was awfully glad for this help. While he didn't need new paper just yet, but this would provide a good stock of it until the day came when 6 would have to get more. This was merely postponing the task of finding new paper once he ran out. Judging by the rate of drawings the seer interpreted and made on white paper, and how much paper himself, 9, and the twins were collecting, he would have about two weeks worth, maybe even a little less.

Eventually, they were able to gather enough pieces that would last 6 for a while. 6 said nothing the whole time, even when 9 had tried to start any sort of conversation with him. As always, the artist stayed his usual silent self. It wasn't unusual that he barely conversed with anyone, but 9 often wondered if the smaller one beside him ever got lonely.

At one point, 6 knew this was enough and stopped, catching the other's attention.

"6?" 9 asked cautiously.

"Um…thanks." 6 said sheepishly.

"No problem at all."

Suddenly, 3 and 4 took the pieces of paper from 6, and, along with all the other pieces scurried away, leaving 6 confused. "Ah! W-wait…"

"Don't worry." 9 reassured him. "They're probably just taking that stuff up to your room."

"Oh. Of course."

"Well, I should probably go get that book for the twins. They were looking for more stuff about human society before you came along."

"Yeah."

For a moment, 9 thought he saw a slight grin cross 6's face. Now that was…_rare_ to see.

He smiled back, then starting to walk away. 6 turned his eyes downward and walked off as well, heading back to his room to draw. There was no mistaking it, 9 had seen a grin on the striped stitchpunk's face. Knowing how 6 always tended to be isolated from everyone else of this clan, remaining by himself as he drew endless visions, seeing him smile like that, it was a wonderful sight. Perhaps he had enjoyed this search after all.

'_It's good to see you're smiling.' _9 thought. Hopefully, this venture had cheered 6 up and erased some of that constant darkness that surrounded him.

All of a sudden, 9 felt someone grab his arm. He thought it might be 6, but before he could find out, he was dragged away into another room.

Silence feel across the area, but no one knew someone poked their head out from around a corner, hearing a sudden noise and quietly rushing back to see what it was.

"9?"

Meanwhile, as for 9 being dragged off into another room…

"Come on, let go!" He exclaimed. When he finally broke free from this person, 9 whipped around to face 8, looking intimidating as usual- although 9 didn't really fear the strongman. Before he could even demand an explanation, he caught sight of 1 also.

'_Oh great. What do these guys want now?'_

"Great. I've been looking all over for you." 1 said.

9 sighed in frustration. "What is it you want?"

"You're going on the next patrol with 5, and then you're taking the night shift in the watchtower."

"Fine. I'm okay with that."

9 wanted to just be on his way, but then 1 brought up another topic. "By the way, where were you?"

9 blinked once, then narrowed his optics slightly. "Nowhere. Just helping out 6 with something."

The elder scoffed. "That fool."

"What do you mean by that?"

8 chuckled, but 1 then silenced him with a gentle flick of his hand. "I simply mean what I said. He only wants attention."

"Don't say that." 9 said in a lower voice.

The conversation continued, however, they were unaware of a presence fright on the other side of the wall, one who was hearing everything through a nail sized hole.

For he had been curious about that sound and where 9 had suddenly disappeared to. He found out soon enough.

…And 6 sat on the floor next to the hole, able to hear every word.

His striped, ink-stained face was contorted into confusion. _'They can't possibly be talking about me, can they?' _He wondered.

"He acts so much like a child." The voice of 1 spoke. "You know that as well as anyone else."

"You've always thought of 6 as a loner and you know it!" 9 shot back.

"Ha! He's lost in his own world. Do you know what he was like when we first found him? He was mumbling all these things, saying things no one would understand. We took him because we had to. All he does is sit and draw, not bothering to do anything else!"

6 brought a hand to the key that hung from his neck. _'They…they are talking about me.'_

"Hey, what's going on!"

'_5?' _Some kind of flicker of enlightenment sparked within him. _'Yes, yes! He'll reassure them. Him and 9 will tell them I'm not crazy!'_

"Don't talk about 6 like he's insane!" 9 continued, seemingly oblivious to 5's presence.

"You know as well as I do that he is!" 1 retorted.

"Enough!" 5 suddenly shouted.

6's eyes shifted towards the hole, yet he was breathing very slowly, waiting for the conversation to continue.

"1, please don't talk about 6 like that." 5 urged. "He's one of us all the same."

"Even you have to admit, he is unhinged." The elder continued on.

And then silence fell upon them.

'_Huh? They couldn't have been stopped by that.'_

"Well," 5 started.

'_Come on.' _6 silently begged. _'Shoot back some witty remark.'_

"Yeah, he is a bit childish and…not all there."

Time seemed to stop all at once for 6.

'_What? What is he saying.' _He thought, this crazy notion flashing wildly through his torn mind.

"I know." Now it was 9? "I mean, at first, I kind of thought the same, at least till he mentioned the source. I'll admit it too, he is a tiny bit eccentric."

'_No, not you too!' _6 couldn't bear to hear anymore, his own friends agreeing upon the fact he was insane.

"None of you care at all." He whispered, so soft only himself could hear.

Weakly, his shaky legs barely supporting him, 6 got to his feet and ran off back to his room. His feet sounded softly on the wood, so no one heard him running, even though the wood was creaky. At one point, he nearly ran into the twins, but he pretended not to notice. 3 and 4 only looked at him after he ran off, then looked at each other and shrugged. They then went back to finds some more books to search through.

No one could really understand the emotional state of 6 right now though. His heart was just hurting too much at this betrayal.

All the artist wanted to do right now was be alone.

However, after running off, as the conversation continued still…

"But he's helped us quite a lot. We shouldn't treat him as if he's nothing to us." 9 said.

"9 is right." 5 agreed. "6 is just as valuable as anyone. He has a purpose like all of us, and it wouldn't be right to shun him. We just need to take things easy with 6, because he's very fragile. However, I'm glad he's around."

"Good point, 5. It wouldn't feel the same if 6 wasn't here."

"Whatever you two say." 1 finally spoke, not pushing the subject any further. "Both of you are still doing the next patrol."

"We know that." 9 said. After that, the small group finally parted ways, leaving 9 and 5 by themselves.

"Wait. Since when did he put you on the next patrol?" The guide asked.

"Since just now, apparently." 9 replied.

"Huh. Well, good thing I'm not going out there alone."

They both laughed in spite of this, knowing very well there could be machines still roaming the deserted earth. Even though the factory, and soon after, the Fabrication Machine, had been destroyed, that didn't mean not all of the machines were gone.

They could still be out there, waiting to strike. That possibility was all too real.

Soon enough, 9 caught sight of the twins again, who enthusiastically waved back. "Hey there. What's new with you guys?" 5 greeted.

3 and 4 looked at each other and then imitated what had happened only moments ago. 4 stood to one side while 3 ran past him. 4 staggered back slightly and then looked at the other two shrugging their shoulders.

5 was puzzled for a moment, but the was quickly able to figure out the secret meaning. "Oh no."

"What?" 9 asked his friend.

"Nothing. I'll be right back. It's just I need to take care of something first."

"Okay."

5 walked off, feeling slightly nervous; because if what he had guessed was true then who knows how much 'he' heard. Who knows what that could of done, broken that artist further perhaps.

No one can really picture what kind of turmoil 6 goes through anyway.

And yet, the sun of the afternoon sky shone through the mist all the while.


	2. Leaving Home

**Um, just warning you now, in this chapter, 6 is kind of feeling...dark...so,yeah. My alter writing girl, Salt, gave me great ideas and helped me write this.**

**Also thanks to SkullWitch57 for reviewing.**

**Feel free to leave a reveiw. And, I do not own 9.**

Chapter 2: Leaving Home

The small stitchpunk shivered as he lay on his bed; his body was curled into itself and his trembling pen-nibbed hands weakly clutching the iron key around his neck. There were no tears, but he just couldn't stop shivering, half caused by the artist's uncontrollable sobs.

It wasn't as if the weather at this time of day was making 6 cold, it was because he was feeling so anguished. However, in the alcove the artist called his own, the temperature was slightly lower than anywhere else in the entirety of their new home. As it was, light from the outside barely got in to this room in particular, for there were no windows. Perhaps that might have been because if the striped stitchpunk had any startling nightmares, he wouldn't 'accidentally' jump out a window. But anyways, the alcove was in an upper part of the library, secluded from the rest where only shadows existed and rays of sun hardly touched. Sometimes, 6 missed the warmth of the sun against his flannel skin, but lately, it felt like he could never feel it at all, that it would never touch such a being as lowly as himself.

At this point, the key that 6 was weakly holding onto seemed like his only source of comfort. Many times over had it been that way, ever since he had been created, even when he couldn't remember how exactly this key that always stayed with him came to be in his possession. Whereas no one would listen to the seer's delusional interpretations of the constant visions that plagued him, the silent key would be there to listen and hear him. Although it never replied, and was inanimate on top of that, it would be the only thing for 6 to talk to, the only thing that would listen. It was unfortunate that no one else would pay any mind to the artist. All of them thought he was crazy.

6 knew they thought that. A fact such as this was not hard to figure out. From the beginning of his war-torn (or rather vision-torn) life, 6 had the power to see what no one else could. The Scientist, his creator, had gifted him with a tremendous power, one very dreadful too. It would figure that such a gift comes with the price of being an outcast. He had been drawing since the beginning, mostly of the Talisman, which 6 had dubbed, 'the Source'. That had become even more common in the few days before 9 arrived and even when he did come. 6 had foretold his arrival after all, because he had seen it. It wasn't hard to figure out at all, but he just wished the others of this coven didn't think that. And to make matters worse, what he had heard minutes ago was only adding insult to injury.

Over the course of many years, mainly during those of the war that raged between the previous civilization of Humans and the Machines, he had heard his share of side remarks that concerned the artist's mental state. To 6, hearing about such things said about him wasn't anything shockingly new, but that didn't mean those words hurt him inside. Young 6 was used to hearing things like he overheard just before, but it never meant that they were another wound inflicted on and pained his poor heart time after time.

Just because 6 might be eccentric, it didn't mean that he lacked feelings. No, that was not the case.

This time, the tortured artist was unable to contain his sorrow.

"Not fair." 6 wept, trying to keep his voice down. However, his body was overwhelmed by despair and anguish. "Not my fault ether. Can't control it. So why?"

A life such as this was hard for the smallest stitchpunk, and, although he seemed to be a childish eccentric artist, 6 was a very lonely person. Such an existence that no one noticed, it was none at all. Not even when he was nearly killed at the hands of a machine did nearly anyone try and save him. He knew in the end it had been 9 who rescued him, along with some help from 5 and 7, but why was that any different? The savior had only been looking for the missing puzzle pieces, the clues about the Talisman only 6 could see.

"I'm no leader." He moaned. "No leader. Can't lead them. How am I supposed too?"

Sometimes 6 often wondered why that had been his chosen purpose as the 6th stitchpunk; 'To lead us'. How in the world was he supposed to lead them if they never listened?

With his pained sobbing now becoming quiet whimpers, 6 calmed down slightly and sat up in bed and released the grip he had kept on the ever present key. His mismatched eyes warily glanced around the small room, glancing at each object and drawing scattered about. 6 remembered every one of them he had created, each mark and stroke carved into the paper by his own hands. Whenever he did draw, it was hard to pull 6 out of that trace-like state. It was actually more accurate to say that it would be the visions that put him in a trance, because drawing was just simply a hobby for this seer.

As he continued to look around the room, his eyes fell on a peculiar object stashed away in a corner; a small piece of discarded glass, probably from the time he accidentally broke an inkwell. The artist blinked once and then moved from the bed.

Once he had slowly made his way over to the shard, he picked it up and observed it solemnly. The glass seemed to glitter. Looking at this object, 6 closed his eyes and shuddered.

Once or twice before, he had considered ending his life, not able to take the crushing weight of so many things in this world. There were actually a few ways to go about it. One time, late at night when everyone else was fast asleep. 6 had suffered quite a mental breakdown and hastily snuck out to the rooftop of the cathedral (of course this was when they used to live there before it burned down). Under the light of the full moon, a slight wind gusting, 6 stood near the edge and looked down across the land. That night, he had almost jumped off the cathedral roof, which was high up from the ground, but he never went through with it. He had scrambled away from the edge, beating himself up over why he had even thought of doing such a thing. No one else knew about this midnight incident except for 6 himself.

6 never really thought about it much, but any idea of suicide that made its way into his head would stay there, not for long though. He would ponder it for a good 5 to 10 minutes, once even 15, and then he would dismiss it as a foolish and stupid notion and silently scold himself for ever thinking of it. The single conclusion that came back to him every time was that he could not leave them alone; there were still things to be done for this world. 6 was needed for something, yet sometimes that would be the furthest thing from his mind and seem non-existent when his heart was just breaking into shards from all this inner turmoil. 6 knew he was needed though, and he had to keep living, no matter what. However, now those dark feelings were back again and took root inside.

And once again, 6 was at that breaking point; debating whether or not to end it all right here and now, just like that time on the roof.

He breathed slowly, a bit unsure of himself, and sad eyes glancing down at the shard.

"S-should I really…" 6 stopped and shook his head. "No! I can't! I have to stay and…and…"

He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence. What would he finish it with? 'Lead them'? No, he couldn't. What 6 really wanted more than anything was to not be alone. He didn't want to be lonely, he didn't want to feel hollow and empty, he didn't want to be sad. However, the war was over, and there was nothing more for him to do than draw like he always would.

The artist didn't see what was left for him here. He didn't have any existence in this world.

"There isn't anything more." 6 raised the shard to his left wrist. He needed to feel something, anything. "Sorry."

The seer brought the shard down and made two shallow cuts in his wrist. Surprisingly, it sent a cold shock through him in an instant and that icy sharp pain alone was enough to cause him pain. He let out a soft cry and the shard fell from his hand, shattering into two smaller halves that lay inches from his feet. Meanwhile, his other hand, his right hand, grasped his injured one in agony. 6 knew that doing this would hurt, and it wasn't really a good point of impalement (he could of chose an area of his chest instead and damaged major internal workings), but if he had continued, perhaps the pain would have consumed him to the point where he was beyond anyone's help.

6 quietly whimpered, another blind decision made. Why, oh why had he stupidly thought of throwing away his life again?

"No…no! What have I…" 6's words trailed off again, gently rubbing his thumb over the two cuts. "I'm the worst."

Suddenly, from not too far away from the room, he could hear footsteps against the wood, and they were approaching the alcove. 6's eyes quickly darted from his cut wrist, to off into nowhere in particular. He was slightly panicking, not because he didn't know who was coming, but in fear that whoever this was, they might catch sight of his wrist. The last things 6 needed right now was to have someone watch on him from time to time, just because of this. All in the midst of his panic were the footsteps drawing ever closer; he needed to act fast.

Quickly looking over at his bed, 6 made a dash for it and jumped headfirst into it. His hands fumbled for the blanket, scrambling to cover himself with it, hide under it. As suddenly as the artist had heard footsteps, they stopped and the curtain door fluttered open a second later.

6 lay motionless in the bed, frozen in place.

"6?" A voice gently called out into the silence. From inside the semi-darkness, body fully hidden under the blanket, 6 breathed out a silent sigh.

'_Oh, it's just 5.' _6 whispered inside his mind. _'But still…'_

"You okay?" 5 asked, stepping inside the alcove. Few times had the guide ever been in here, and it always felt strange to the healer when he was in this room of prophetic drawings.

"Yes." 6 answered back, his reply forced. "Feeling a bit sleepy. Why?"

"Well," For a moment, he stopped, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "I don't know how much you overheard, if any. But if you did, I'm sorry."

The artist's eyes widened. _'He knows I heard them?'_

"I…I know, 5."

That confirmed his suspicions. "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." The one-eyed stitch punk urged. "We don't mean to hurt you like that. I didn't even know you were listening."

Again, 6 heard footsteps, but they were coming towards his bed. He could of imagined it, but this time, he did not. The footsteps grew ever closer.

"Fine!" With that exclamation, the footsteps stopped and 6 shut his eyes, his grip on his damaged wrist tightening. "I'm fine."

"Okay then." 5 said back, sounding slightly suspicious.

"Fine." The seer repeated, like a broken record that could only utter one note of a second.

"I'll be going now, I guess. I have to head out on a patrol soon with 9."

That was the last 6 heard from him, who then left the room moments later. Once he was sure 5 was far enough away, 6 removed himself from the blanket and broke down into depression once more.

'_They know I heard them! They lie to me!' _He thought.

In 6's mind, they had only sent 5 up here to see how much he had really heard. No one cared for him, they never did. Why in the world would they care about such an insane person? 6 was left only to the visions of his mind. Here, 6 was alone. He was trapped, and he fell out of place.

No one could see what he saw.

He was trapped in his own world.

6 was trapped in a world he couldn't share with anyone.

"I…don't belong here." The artist whispered. "Don't belong."

That was suddenly a new possibility that occurred to him. While he had never attempted it, that was real.

6 could do that, because he had done everything he could do to support them.

"No one will notice." The artist whispered, bringing his knees up to his chin and hugging himself. "No one will care."

He didn't want to be here anymore.

"Disappear. Leave."

He had done everything he could, everything he knew how.

"Disappear."

No one would notice if he suddenly vanished.

"Runaway."

His heart was set; 6 would leave forever. Runaway.

There was not much he needed to take with him on this soon to be solemn journey. However, there was still the matter of paper and ink. There was a small sack he could use to carry these items, but it would only fit a small inkwell and a few pieces of paper. The seer had no choice though, he couldn't just stockpile the images that came to him. That would only allow the pain and visions to consume him.

After stuffing the sack with paper and the tiniest inkwell he could find in the room- sealed with an easily removable cork- 6 slung this satchel over his shoulder. The inkwell added at bit weight, and 6 winced at it, but ignored that. This was everything he would need, nothing else. Finally, he stood in the center of the alcove and took one last glance around. Looking over the drawings, his heart ached slightly.

'_Sigh. I'm already missing these drawings.' _He thought.

He was missing everything in this room already, but…

"They don't need me. Can't lead them." 6's voice trembled as he spoke those words. "I won't burden them anymore."

The artist sighed and started for the door, but then he stopped, glancing back behind him at a piece of paper.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

The sun hung low in the cloudy sky by the time 5 and 9 had returned from their outing. Today they hadn't found many things, but each new item added to their collection was still a great find. Perhaps these items even held clues about the culture of the previous civilization before their time. During the war, their culture had been lost, extinguished, and the stitchpunks were the only ones left who could preserve that history, the history of humans.

Human civilization. The stitchpunks had been crafted by human hands. The relics left behind by the humans were fascinating, giving insight into their expansive culture that had nearly been trampled and forgotten by the machines. Yet, through all their achievements, it was their own fault; the humans brought destruction upon themselves, cause their own collapse by creating the Fabrication Machine. Mechanical soldiers assembled by this great machine, consumed by a power hungry lust, had wiped out all of the human race. 9 knew this much, learning this information via a message left for him from his creator, a man they knew as the Scientist. He, and he alone, had created the Fabrication Machine from his own intellect, naming it the B.R.A.I.N., but it lacked an important thing… a soul. This man created the machine, but he wanted to atone for these sins. In essence, that was why the band of nine stitchpunks were created, each with an essential purpose to the world and the stitchpunk clan.

Really, when you thought about it, all of that was ironic.

Humans were strange, yet fascinating.

Anyhow…5 and 9 were currently unloading their new treasures and putting them with others. Really, they were all such mysterious objects, but the twosome could probably get the twins to identify any of them. Those two were avid and bright scholars after all. It did fit their correct purposes; 3- 'To define us', and 4- 'To teach us'.

"Huh. Look at this, 5." 9 suddenly said, holding out an item to the guide.

The single eye of 5 gazed at the object; a black and white feather with what appeared to be ink on the tip. "I've seen this somewhere."

"3 and 4 once told me that it was called a quill." He explained. "This was once used as a writing tool for the humans. They would use ink and quills. They developed better tools later on, but this was an early piece. You know, it kind of reminds me of 6."

At the mention of the seer's name, 5 frowned. He hadn't heard a word (or seen him) of 6 since earlier today.

'_I hope you're okay, 6.' _He thought.

9 then took notice. "What is it?"

5 drew in a breath. "Well, earlier today, I think 6 overheard that conversation. I think he heard us mention him."

9 was silent before nodding in understanding, During that time, 1 had asked 9 where he had run off to. 9 defended himself by saying he was helping 6 with a small task. The self-proclaimed 'leader' had then gone off on a whole rant about 6, saying all kinds of things. 5 had then come into the conversation and tried to defend 6. While 5 and 9 agreed that the artist may act odd, there was still no reason to talk about him in such a manor. 9 figured that if 6 overheard any of that, he had ran off to somewhere before he heard the end.

"Oh man." 9 sighed, putting the quill aside. He wondered how much 6 heard. "Is he alright."

"Apparently, or so he says." 5 replied, shrugging his shoulders. "He insisted that he was just tired and was perfectly fine."

"6 does draw a lot, You have to expect him to become purely exhausted at some point."

"You're right, but he doesn't sleep much."

"Who can blame him! He must have been out of it. I wouldn't be surprised if he had frequent nightmares too, what with all those visions becoming part of his dream also."

"Yeah." 5 agreed, going back to sifting through their loot. "He does have a lot of nightmares. Once in a while though, 6 will be able to get a good nights sleep, and that's good enough."

Suddenly, from seemingly thin air, the twins saw their other brethren and rushed out to greet them from their unseen hiding place. Their eyes that served as their voices were shinning bright, contrasting their bubbly personality. They flashed a message to the two others through their silent language.

"Hello." 9 greeted them. "How are you two today?"

That flashed another message and 9 studied each flash carefully. He had once learned that the humans had used a silent language at one time called 'Morse Code'. He had thought it was awfully similar to 3 and 4's way of communication, so he studied it. For a while now, he had been making this effort to better understand them. At least now he could get some of it.

"What is it?" 5 asked.

9 turned to his friend. "They're wondering if we've seen 6 anywhere."

The guide sighed and looked at 3 and 4. "I saw him earlier, but he's feeling pretty worn out from all that drawing he does. All those visions probably." He paused for a moment, debating on whether to take them to 6 or not. He did get lonely up there all by himself, and he always smiled a bit when someone came to join him. "Why don't we let him rest for a little while?"

The twins blinked, but then nodded in understanding. They then scurried away to indulge themselves in more books.

"Do you think he's fine?" 9 asked as soon as 3 and 4 were gone.

"I suppose so. Probably all 6 needs right now is a good rest."

* * *

The sun had sunk lower onto the horizon, which meant night would soon paint the sky with stars. Yet, he ran on, and he cried.

'_There was nothing left.' _6 thought. _'There was no reason for me to stay, not when I'll be a worthless presence that will only get in their way.'_

6 had never thought about running away before, and how odd that was, when he had tried twice to end everything all together. He never thought it would come to this. Sure, once or twice before had he toyed with the thought of suicide, but he knew he didn't have any will to do it. However, running away, from the others, from all that he knew, it hadn't seemed so…real. Now was different though, and it was real.

And now he had run away, under the dimming light of the setting sun.

After a while, a good distance away from the library, 6 slowed his pace to a walk, glancing up at the sky. His body ached form running so long and far, but his heart hurt even more.

"This was right." The artist whispered to no one in particular. "They don't need me anymore."

His voice was choked with tears, but stitchpunks can't cry.

He raised a hand and rubbed his eyes anyway, because he simply felt like crying, even when the artist knew (or at least was convinced) that this was the best outcome.

Still, 6 wanted to cry. How he wished his tears were real.


	3. Disapperance

**This chapter is a little short, just telling you now. So, focusing off 6 for a bit and to the others. next chapter we'll get back to him, 'kay?**

**Thanks again to SkullWitch57 for reviewing.**

**I do not own the movie 9 in any way.**

Chapter 3: Disappearance

The morning brought forth a mist that made the ruined landscape seem colder than normal at this time of year. The first winds of winter would soon come along anyway, which would then transform the land into a white wonderland. The sun that was rising onto this day had chased away the moon and stars- so cleverly hidden behind the veil of clouds. The bright rays of the sun shadowed the ruins of buildings and cast their shadowy shapes upon the dusty ground, besides making the scattered, rusted machine parts shimmer.

With the rising dawn, all was silent, not a sound to be heard.

In the library, home of the stitchpunks, light crept in through the glass windows. The twins had been the first to wake, as usual. They had right away taken off to the books, as they wanted to finish cataloging the new items 5 and 9 had brought home. They were just so fascinating that it was hard for them not to add them to their vast knowledge of human society. They were not okay with sitting still and doing nothing. It was almost impossible.

But…something felt _off_.

The twins couldn't guess what that feeling could possibly be. It clung to the air, acting like a mist. It was one of the oddest feelings they had ever felt before, but they knew it all too well. Back in the days when they alone inhabited this library, it was a prominent feel. They got used to it in all due time, and when 7 had returned one day, bringing along 5 and the new stitchpunk, 9, that feeling had vanished.

Now it was back.

It was as if…something was missing.

3 and 4 pondered this for a moment, but then shrugged simultaneously, as if nothing was wrong. When they reached to area where 5 and 9 had stashed the items for the night, both of them grabbed a handful of items that perked their interest. They had books at the ready, waiting to be of use. They took the items over to their stash of books, already open. They spread the items among themselves and the books, glancing at the books and beginning to catalogue the items.

It was 4 who stumbled across the quill. _"Hey, look here." _The teacher said to his brother.

3 turned to see the quill in the others hands. _"Oho~ A quill!"_

"_Yeah, that's right!" _4 clapped his hands together with glee. _"An early writing tool of the humans!"_

"_Look, there's still ink on the tip." _3 gestured to the end of the quill used for writing. Though the ink was dry and cracked on the slender object, it still remained.

"_Kind of reminds me of 6."_

"_I know, right?"_ 3 then stood and took a step away from the items and books. _"We should show it to him!"_

4 shook his head and stood also, reaching out to grab the definer's arm. _"Remember what 5 said to us last time we went looking for him? I'm pretty sure 6 is still resting. We shouldn't bother him."_

"_I suppose you're right." _The twins sat back down amongst their items and went back to sorting them.

"_Although," _3 started once more. _"He's been up there for quite a while."_

"_Don't you go worrying about him. You know as well as I do how exhausted those visions make him."_

"_Yeah, but…shouldn't we go check on him or something?"_

4 mutely sighed. _"He's okay. And later, we'll show this quill to him. I'm sure that will at least put a smile on his face!"_

"_I know, 4. It's just that…" _He used one finger to carve random scribbles into the dirt. _"Something doesn't seem right today. I worry about him sometimes."_

"_As do I."_

The second twin was getting tired of this, and his brother was slightly correct in one way. Something felt off about this morning. They both knew also that 6 tended to get lonely up in that alcove, with only himself there. Looking down at the quill, he knew in his heart that if they gave this to the clairvoyant stitch punk as a gift, it would surely make him happy.

"_Okay, okay." _4 said, standing with a slight grin. _"We'll go see him, and bring the quill too."_

"_Yay!" _3 cheered.

Since the twins were mute- having been that way since the day of their creation- there was hardly any way to communicate with any of their family. However, even with visions constantly assailing him, 6 showed much kindness to them. He read the emotions on their faces, and could easily tell what they were trying to say. There was no need for words in his case. He was the first to understand, then it was 7 who was able to crack the code, and now 9 was even making an effort to understand their silent language. If people understood them, then that made them both happy. As it would seem, 3 and 4 at one point came to a conclusion that 6 was grateful of anyone who came to see him, so long as they didn't have any intentions to hurt him, physically or verbally.

Now quickly ascending the stairs that led up to where 6's room was, they were becoming much more bubbly again, intending on now using the quill as a gift to 6. However, 4 was now the one getting that feeling of something falling out of place. He had put his brother at ease, but now that feeling had passed on to him. 4 could understand fully what this was now, and the gloomy nostalgia it had brought back.

4 felt…no…_knew_ something was missing. He wasn't sure what though.

Not yet anyway…

They knew they were nearing the alcove when everything started to darken slightly. There was hardly any light that was visible here anyway. Quietly, 3 and 4 made their way down towards the curtain that served as the door to 6's room. They stopped just before the curtain, and 4 was about to pull the door open, but his hand stopped.

3 looked at his twin with concern. _"What? What is it?"_

It was as if 4 was listening for something, and then he mouthed one word, silently. He glanced over at 3. _"I don't hear anything."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_No humming. No noise of drawing. Nothing."_

3 began to understand what 4 meant, the words sinking in. This was not like 6. Even if he wasn't drawing, one might still be able to hear some sort of noise, whether it be the mumbling of his own words or whimpers and moans he would utter in his sleep. 5 had said the artist was sleeping, so the latter would be more accurate. This time was drastically different.

To hear nothing inside 6's room, it was unnatural.

With both twins now facing the curtain, anxiousness flooding them, 4 hesitantly gripped the curtain. He was concerned that something might be wrong, and 3 probably felt the same. Taking a silent breath, he flung the curtain open. However, the twins were in no way prepared for what came next. In a single heartbeat would that lingering feeling become clear.

The room was dark, but, much to their surprise, 6 was not there. 3 dropped the quill in his shock.

"_What the- where did he go?" _4 exclaimed.

3 looked around franticly for any clue to where the seer had gone. _"He must be around here! He just can't be gone!"_

And then, all at once, they understood what that feeling meant. They understood now. _Something was missing. _

"_We…we have to do something! This can't be!" _4 finally said. He suddenly turned to 3. _"7! S-she'll help for sure!"_

They both then dashed out of the room and back downstairs, 3 picking up the quill before they left.

* * *

As for 7, she had also gotten up early to get ready for the morning patrol. She didn't need anyone else with her, she was perfectly capable of handling the outside world herself, as she had done so for years. Her skills had been sharpened like a knife, her instincts were keen. 7 was very much able to take down any machine that came her way, and she would fight in order to protect her family.

With spear in hand, 7 was well equipped and ready for anything. It was as her purpose defined her, 'to defend us'. Still, it seemed that the conflicts within this clan were very much different from fighting machines. Like so, she would not be prepared for the surprise that awaited her.

7 was just about to head out when someone called her name. "Hey, 7!"

The warrior turned to see who was calling her, and smiled when she saw it was only 9. "Hey. You still look like you're half-asleep."

He laughed at her joke, then shrugged. "Well you sure aren't tired at all."

"Because I'm doing the morning patrol. You were up in the watchtower all night."

"Ha-ha. Figures, doesn't it?"

Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached, and the two friends turned to see 3 and 4 rushing right at them. 3 practically tackled 9, while 4 fiercely wrapped his arms around 7.

"_7! 9!" _They cried through the flashing in their eyes. Both were able to clearly understand that. 9 then saw a quill lying on the ground and recognized it from yesterday.

"What's the matter?" 7 asked gently as she took a look at the teacher's face. 3 looked up at 9, then at 4 and 7. The twins looked incredibly upset.

"_We…Have you seen 6?" _4 asked franticly. _"We can't…we can't find him!"_

7 became overwhelmed with confusion. "What do you mean? Isn't he in his room, like usual?"

"_No!" _3 answered, burying his face into 9's chest. _"We went to give him a quill we found, and he wasn't there!"_

7 and 9 looked at each other in shock. True, they haven't seen any sign of the striped stitchpunk that morning, but to hear that he was not inside the alcove he had claimed as his own, that was what shocked them.

"9?" She asked, looking to him for an answer.

"I…I don't know." He was at a loss for words.

"Well, he couldn't of just disappeared."

"Okay, think. We can't jump to any conclusions." He managed to pry 3 off him, who then raced over to his twin as 4 let go of 7 and picked up the quill. "Hey, maybe he's with 5."

7 nodded in agreement. "Hmm. That's a good idea. 5 is usually the one to calm 6 down when he gets upset or something."

"Yeah, that's true." 9 then approached the twins and put and arm around each of them. "Come on, you two. I'm sure he's around here somewhere.

Knowing 6, 9 knew that this theory was a long shot, but he prayed it was right.

* * *

5 was in the workshop with 2 when four pairs of footsteps came racing in. Both stopped what they were doing and saw the twins, 7, and 9 standing before them.

"What's going on?" 2 asked.

9 looked around the room and then spoke. "6...isn't here?"

That made 5 tense. "Why do you ask?"

"We can't find 6."

For a moment, none of them said a word.

"But…6 usually stays in his room." 5 finally said, virtually stunned.

"We know," 7 responded. "But 3 and 4 say he's not there."

"What? He's missing? Could he have been taken by a machine?"

"No way." 9 said. "I was in the watchtower all night."

"But, he couldn't have just vanished!"

"Okay, calm down." 2 interrupted, all eyes falling on him. "Now, up until this point, did any of you notice anything strange about his behavior? Stranger than usual?"

They each pondered on the question. The twins and 7 hadn't noticed anything yesterday, and 9 had started thinking the same thing as well. There wasn't anything they could think of that would show 6 had not been like his usual, oddball self. However, it was the sudden realization that had dawned on 5.

"Yesterday." He started to mumble to himself, looking away from his friends. As the recollection of the previous day became, he looked up at the others. "Yesterday! 9, do you remember?"

"Um, what about it?" 9 asked.

"After we came back from patrol and I told you that 6 might of overheard the earlier conversation." The guide explained. He then focused this explanation to the others. "See, there was a mention of 6 when 1 started talking about him, and I'm pretty sure he overheard us. I only realized this afterwards and I went to check on him. 6 told me he was just tired, and that he was okay. He actually admitted to hearing the conversation. Anyway, I think now that he was just trying to hide his sadness so we wouldn't know."

"So, what are you getting at?" 7 asked, the twins at her side.

It took 5 a minute to put this information together, because it all made sense. He knew better than anyone that 6 was a fragile stitchpunk who's feelings could be easily hurt. The seer had the over-paranoid thought that everyone saw him as insane. Sometimes it was true; he rambled on about many things and his manner of speaking them was confusing. However, 6 was one of the most kind-hearted stitch punks among them, not to mention artistic and expressive. At times, his child-like and eccentric personality was cute- even the ink stains covering his body were very characteristic of the artist. But, because of many things that had happened, many things said, 6 could easily break down into a very depressed state. Mentally and emotionally, he was unstable. What if, with what he overheard yesterday, had completely broken him?

It all made sense.

5 was nervous, because of what he was about to say. "I think 6 might have ran away."

Silence fell upon all of them, not wanting to say a word in light of this shocking conclusion.

"Could that…be true?" 9 said, almost in a whisper, due to disbelief.

"I don't believe it." 7 said, also from disbelief. She knew 6 was emotionally unstable, but she never thought he would actually run away. She much rather believed that the artist would try and take his own life before attempting this endeavor.

2 closed his eyes and frowned regretfully. "It seems it was only a matter of time before this sort of thing happened. I'm afraid that 5 is most likely correct."

"Then…we have to go looking for him!" 5 proclaimed.

"Wait a minute." The guide looked at 2, the stitchpunk he saw as a father, in isr eyes at least. "If you're going to organize a search party, you can't go alone." He smiled gently and gestured to the other two in the room. "9 and 7 should go with you.

He didn't show emotion, but felt a bit more confident now that his best friends were at his side. They could begin the search, and 6 couldn't really have gone far. However, the emptiness- the abandoned city- was vast. What if 6 had taken off to someplace far away, or perhaps without a destination in mind.

'_Please be safe, 6.'_ 5 thought, praying he was alright.


	4. Winter's Call

**Well, I kind of got this new chaprter done sooner than expected (although it's been nearly 2 weeks) ^^ But, anyways, by now, we're over halfway though the strory (since there will be 7 chapters). After this one, it might take longer to get the next one up because I started one of my new summer fanfic's yesterday. Also, I'm taking some time to write a few Pandora Hearts oneshots I've been meaning to do. I'll work on that when I can.**

**So, this chapter is a bit short because I could hardly think of anything. Look at it this way though, we're back to 6, as this chapter focuses entierly on him. Also thanks so much to SkullWitch57, PoppyEMC.6-13, and lady of the wilds for the new reviews (makes me so happy).**

**As always, feel free to leave a review. Also, I do not own the movie 9 in any way.**

Chapter 4: Winter's Call

6 awoke that morning lying next to one of his drawings.

His whole body- every fiber right down to his pen-nibbed fingers- felt numb. All his joints felt achy and overly stiff. His eyes had slowly clicked open, but slower than normal. His soft yarn hair drooped. The seer did not like that at all.

To plainly describe the way 6 had slept, it would be no different than normal. He slept very still, fingers twitching from time to time. Sometimes, an inky hand would grasp the key that hung suspended around his neck- as always. His stillness was concerning at times, because one could not tell if he was really sleeping. He could be pretending to sleep, frightened to succumb to his tiredness because of the tainted dreams that were forever plaguing him, along with the visions. The more likely and probable outcome was that he would be tormented every night, inside his mind where the endless nightmares would spawn and bloom like black roses with extremely sharp thorns. It was more common that he would suffer from the nightmares than sleep soundly. That night had seemed different now though.

Even more still, even with his restful slumber, there was still suffering and anguish stirring violently in his heart.

"Mph… Sore." 6 mumbled to himself trying to flex his joints. His fingers and feet were easy enough to move, it was the rest of him that took some time to move with ease.

The artist first propped himself up on his elbows, albeit shaky. He felt a small pain in his wrist, but ignored it. It wasn't until he was situated on his knees till he glanced down at his left wrist, the two cuts from the previous day still there. 6 stared at it for a minute before whimpering and raising his other hand to it. His fingers brushed against the shallow cuts. His wrist had seemed to go numb now and a few threads hug from the torn seams. The artist sighed, a reminded of what the foolish mistake he had made only yesterday. However, he knew that he could in no way sew it up.

A feeble cough escaped him then, making him shiver. 6 turned his eyes upon the shreds of paper sticking out from the sack beside the not-too-far-away inkwell. With a silent stare he crawled over- the previous drawing he had woken up beside in hand- to the inkwell, grabbed an new shred of paper and began to draw once more.

Yesterday, the day he had finally been broken and ran away from his own home, he had found a suitable area to rest for the night. It was far away from the library, so no one would be able to find him over night. It was what looked like some sort of giant pipe. The striped stitchpunk had settled on this for the evening. Once he set his things down, he plucked paper from the sack he had brought with him and set to drawing, even though his body felt exhausted from traveling so far. 6 drew complicated and complex drawings in that time, seeming to portray his emotions so very clearly, in his own abstract way. Around midnight, after finishing another drawing, he passed out.

'_But no one's probably noticed I'm gone.' _6 thought to himself.

The artist came close to finishing the complex drawing, when he was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughs. He pounded a fist against his chest to try and clear his airways, and was still after a moment. He breathed slowly, pondering on what had come over him. He then shook his head, concluding it was just a random compression of his breathing. 6 was actually prone to such a thing. The contributing factor in that was usually stress, and obviously he didn't handle stress all that well. It was to be expected, living a lonely life such as this.

Putting the finishing touches on the drawing- which was a dead tree cracked in half, seeming to stand out in the middle of the landscape, although it wasn't uncommon here- 6 decided to pack up his things and keep going. He didn't know how far he wanted to travel, but he knew he wanted to. After the seer had put the drawings back in the sack and sealed the inkwell (putting that away as well), he slung the strap over his shoulder and walked out of his temporary shelter. Once again, his wandering began again, and so did his regretful emotions that clung to him like static.

As he walked, the sun rising into the sky, 6 could help but rub his left wrist. It was strange, how overnight it had gone numb, he couldn't even feel any pain from the cuts he made in it yesterday. However, it didn't overly concern him in any way. For one, he was used to pain; it was part of his life. Second, if he could no longer feel any pain in his damaged wrist, then that was good; there would be no more pain from that self-inflicted injury, and nothing would happen because of it.

The air felt cold, making him shiver. He knew, of course, that winter would arrive in this desolate plain any day now. It was just a matter of when. Although, thinking about winter reminded 6 of a time long ago; not too long- as this had been before 9 arrived- but it seemed like it in his memory…

_(Flashback)_

"_5," 6 whimpered, catching the guide's attention. 5 stopped working on his new project- a crossbow- and was slightly surprised to see the artist standing in the doorway of the workshop, looking quite cold._

"_What's the matter?" He asked, being as gentle as he could with this stitchpnuk. 5 knew about the seer, and knew how fragile he was._

"_I…I'm not feeling well." 6 said quietly. "S-so cold…"_

"_Hmm." 5 was the healer among them, and he knew that none of his family could literally get sick, but still… "Come here."_

_Trembling, 6 walked over to 5 and looked up at him with weary eyes. 5 was taller than the artist anyways, whereas 6 was only just a bit taller than the twins. Anyways, 6 felt pretty cold. He had only just woken up this morning to find that something was making him shiver terribly. The striped stitchpunk had no idea what was causing this, so he drew his own conclusion that there was something wrong with him and that he was not well today. The artist thought 5 would have the answer so he had went to him._

_5 observed 6 for a moment before putting a hand on the smaller stitchpunk's forehead. 6 was surprised at this sudden touch- as he wasn't used to much contact with others of his family anyway-, but did he not back away. Ether way, 5 had gotten his answer to 6's dilemma._

"_You don't have a fever." Then he chuckled slightly. "You're probably just cold from these winter temperatures."_

"_O-oh." That was a bit of relief, getting a confirmation that nothing was wrong; he wasn't sick or anything of the sort._

"_Let me get you something. Just wait here." 5 said to 6, ruffling his yarn hair. The artist obeyed and waited patiently while 5 went into another room that was out of 6's line of sight. After a moment in silence, 5 came back with something in his hand. It looks like cloth, white and dragging slightly on the floor._

"_Wh-what's this?" 6 asked nervously, exchanging glances at the cloth and 5._

"_The temperatures this time of year drop even lower at night. I'd imagine you get chilled very easily." 5 said to the artist. 6 nodded at this; at night he did get very cold. "I'll give you this to use as a blanket to keep you warm, whether it be night or day."_

_The seer's face brightened at this gift. "Thank you, 5!"_

_6 took the cloth that 5 was holding out for him and took it into his arms, snuggling it. It was so soft and warm! He wrapped himself up in the blanket and his smile grew wider. He felt so much better now, much more warm and comfortable. It was true that the winters were very harsh on the small stitchpunk. But now…now he had something to keep him safe from the winter winds._

"_There. Better now?" The guide asked._

"_Mmm-hm." The artist purred._

_Sighing with content, 6 looked out a nearby window. When he saw that there was snow falling outside, he gasped and looked back at 5, brimming with joy. 5 thought that the other's eyes seemed to glow in that moment._

"_Snow!" He exclaimed. "C-can I-I-I…go play?"_

_5 laughed and ruffled 6's hair again. "Yeah, sure. We'll all go, okay?"_

"_I'd…I'd like that!"_

_(End flashback)_

6 sighed, his breath coming out as a poof of white smoke. "I should of brought that. It's cold here. Nothing to keep me warm."

He hated being cold. It was bad enough during the day, that much he was aware of. At night…That was a whole different story. Besides his treacherous nightmares that lured him into darkness every night, the cold would shake the seer to his very core. It froze his metal structure- sealed in the striped flannel that was his skin- and turned his every breath to a thick white color as it froze in the air. 6 would shiver to the point of convulsions because he was so cold! He would wake up freezing, and he would be unable to fall back asleep. Sometimes 6 tried to distract himself by drawing, but not even that would help; the ink was as cold as ice. It wasn't until he received the blanket from 5 that he was finally be able to sleep in those winter nights in warm comfort. But now that he had run away and taken barely anything with him, leaving that blanket behind, 6 had to suffer through those chilling cold nights once more.

And so, the striped stitch punk kept on walking, bearing this thoughts in mind. He'd left everything else behind, but…they no longer needed him, no longer cared…Did they?

So suddenly though, 6 felt an urge to stop. He did so, and it was only then that he wrapped his arms around his abdomen in pain. He breathed slowly and closed his eyes.

"Ngh…not again." He said to himself. "Have to…draw."

6 sat down not the cold ground and the removed his satchel, setting that on the ground as well. He took out the inkwell again and removed the cork. He then took a couple pieces of paper, setting them in front of him. The artists own hands then set to work, almost as if they knew what to do without a command, but 6 was aware of that because he had drawn so many things. As to why he had suddenly gotten this impulse at the moment, he knew it was because he tried to hold them inside again; the visions. As he traveled, 6 wanted to at least keep them out of his head until he found a place to stop. They couldn't wait though and broke through the barrier, leaking into him. The seer knew that holding all his visions inside was not healthy for him. They hurt him if he did, and he knew that. That was why he had let them relentlessly flow back in his old home, whether he liked it or not. Being clairvoyant came with a steep price, or at least that's how 6 thought about it.

In his mind's eye, seeing the visions, he could see cloudy skies, snow on the ground, and even…tiny scouting machines roaming the landscape. Seeing those again, it scared him a bit, but they were little spider-like scouts. Besides, there were very little of them left since the Fabrication Machine had been destroyed by 9. It didn't really matter if he saw them, because he would still be okay. The artist knew he would not encounter any of them on this journey, and if he did, he could formulate some plan to destroy it- as it would most likely be one of those spider scouts. Although he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

On this new piece of paper, 6 began to draw the snow-covered buildings of the winter to come, when suddenly, he felt something wet on his striped head. This brought 6 out of his vision-induced trance and looked around nervously. Raising one hand from the drawing, he touched the back of his head- getting it a bit stained with ink. He felt nothing.

"S-strange." The artist stuttered, not being able to identify what he had felt. He took back to drawing the picture of the ruins in the snow, but then he saw something white land on his paper. Slightly startled, 6 leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the inkwell in the process. 6 looked at the paper for a moment, but when he looked back up from it an entirely different sight awaited him.

"Snow."

Indeed, 6 was right. Snow had begun to fall across the land. The striped stitchpunk stared with awe, marveling over the amount that was falling. To him, snow was something he'd loved to see. He had called it a 'white rain', and technically, he was right. Snow was frozen water anyway. There was so much 6 loved about so though; playing in it, dancing and spinning. 9 and 5 had even helped the artist build a snowman once.

A smile appeared upon 6's face and his eyes seemed to glow with delight. "Snow!"

He burst with laughter and ran out into the snowfall, holding his hands out as if he wanted to catch them in his hand. That was similar to the time the cathedral burnt down. The coven had just arrived at the library, and 6 could see ashes floating down…just like snow. For a moment, he had thought those would have been his drawings, destroyed in the fire- which had been hard on him but he chose to ignore it. Perhaps 6 thought they had come back for him. Perhaps 6 thought they could still be salvaged. With immense curiosity that could be compared to a child, he struggled to catch even one piece. But he still smiled. When the seer finally was able to catch one, clapping his hands together around it, he opened up his hands to gaze at it, but it had turned to ash right there. That had made 6 a bit sad, but he shrugged it off and went to rejoin the others, who had been farther ahead of him at the time.

'_In a way,' _6 figured, still chasing the snow, running around in circles. _'it's the same. But…they'll keep coming back to me!'_

Still he laughed, so much that it hurt him slightly, but it was okay; he enjoyed it. He looked straight up at the sky, the snow falling right on to his mismatched eyes. Once his vision was obscured enough, he cleared the snow from his eyes, carefully wiping them away by the fabric of his arm.

"Snow!" 6 exclaimed once more. "So pretty!"

The artist spun in place, soaking up all of this fun he was having. 6 had so many memories of playing in the snow of the years gone by. He had been startled by the snow at first, but 6 came to love it and not fear it. He had played with 5, 7, the twins…

6 stopped spinning. His eyes were open and no longer looking at the sky, but into a point on the distance. However, he was not focused on anything; he stared off into nowhere. The seer didn't move, he stood still. For a second, one of his hands twitched, but then he started shaking and collapsed onto his knees.

"E-everyone…" 6 whimpered, holding his head in his hands. His heartache had returned…

…and he missed them all so terribly.


	5. Cold

**Hello, everyone. First off, I am so sorry this is later than the last one. It's just becase I 've been working at the fair lately till 11:00PM, which has left me barely any time to work on this. I kind of had writters block for this chapter too, but I know where this is going now. Also, I've been RPing (roleplaying) a lot, and it's just too much fun.**

**Thanks so SkullWitch57, Guest, and Guest for reveiwing.**

**I do not own the movie 9 in any way.**

Chapter 5: Cold

The search for 6 had begun, and so far there hadn't been any progress. To start with, the small search party- which consisted of 5, 7, and 9- had no clue as to where the artist could of run off to. Before, 6 had never been seen anywhere except in his own little corners of the cathedral (before it was burnt down) and the library. Trying to pinpoint where he had gone now was harder than it seemed. It wasn't clear cut, and no suggested place was for certain. To make it simple, 6 could be anywhere in the Emptiness. That fact alone, was enough to cause concern among the group searching for him. However, there were other factors that would make this both difficult and of the utmost urgency.

At this time of year, winter would set in over this empty landscape. With that season brought white snow, cold days/nights, and temperatures that would chill any stitchpunk to their core. All of them knew just how harsh the winters were- even the humans before them had difficulty with winter! After the three stitch punks had set out to search for 6, snow had started to softly fall down. While they were reminded of their own memories of the winters past, they knew the calm of this tiny snowfall could change all within a blink of an eye- or optics, in this case. If 3 and 4 were to have joined the three on the search, those twins would have been distracted endlessly from the search. Besides, 7 had ordered them to stay at the library, just as a mother would say to her children. But still, at least the snowfall was light.

There was also the factor of any lurking machines. It wasn't like the one that had hunted them all in the past, for the factory had been destroyed. However, all of them knew that there could be a remaining few roaming the land. Each machine was under a single command, even when their leader had been slain by 9. Their only order was of three options; hunt, capture dead or alive, or kill. 7 and 8 were probably the ones who had any best shot of killing a machine. 9 and 5 could still remember the moment when the warrior had taken off the head of the Cat Beast with one swoop. The same could not be said about 6. The seer had never picked up anything remotely close to a weapon in his life. All he did was draw, and whenever a fight ensured, 6 always shrunk back into the shadows, trying his best to avoid conflict. He had no fighting experience ether. While no one, except most likely 1 and 8, wouldn't say it right out to 6, he was the weakest one among them.

5, who had organized the search party, was the one who worried over these thoughts the most. 6 was like a little brother to him, and all he wanted was to keep his little brother safe from harm. 6 had lived a very lonely life, and when 5 first saw 6 the striped stitchpunk was scared and frightened; he was sacred out of his torn mind. He hadn't been very well ether when he was first found.

2 had told the guide of how 6 had been suffering when the group found him, probably from exposure to the environment. He had been shivering, overcome with random coughing fits, not being able to stay on his feet. His compulsion for drawing his visions was overwhelming too, not to mention his nightmares. At that time 2 and 7 had been the only ones to care. After the 5 lost his eye, he had meet 6, and even then he was feeling slightly under the weather, yet drawing away. 5 had noticed the artist had a slight fever and urged him to rest, but 6 just shied away mumbling something about a 'Source'. 6 had been hurt a few times too, whether it was intentional or just an accident, and the artist wasn't overly open to any sort of medical treatment. 6 was drawn into himself and was scared of the cruel world that had mocked him.

But 5 was still worried about 6. Something could of happened; he could be injured, sick, or worse…

"6 liked this; the snow." 5 said suddenly, making 9 and 7 look at him sympathetically.

9 held his hand up and caught a snowflake. 7 just fiddled with her spear. "Yeah. We know." She replied.

9 then took notice of his friend's gloomy expression, and it reminded him of the time they went out to find 2. Sure, 9 hadn't known 5 for as long as anyone else, but he knew that 5 and 6 were like brothers. That much was a given. 6 was also a brother to 9 as well. He hadn't understood the ramblings of 6 at first, but he believed him; he believed in 6 when no one else would.

"Hey, don't worry." 9 reassured the guide. "He's somewhere around here."

"Yeah." He seemed to brighten up slightly. "You're probably right."

"So any more ideas of 6 might have taken off to?" 7 asked, trying to stir up conversation.

"Not a clue." 9 said back. "It's hard to pinpoint where anyone would go if they ran away."

"He's got a point there, 7." 5 added.

"Well, whatever. But, guys, we may have a problem."

"What?"

She looked up at the falling snow and then shook her head. "We don't know if this will get worse or how long it will last."

Both 5 and 9 knew she was right. This could very well turn into a violent blizzard. If that were to happen, none of them would be able to last long; the cold and driving snow would freeze them dead in their tracks. And if things got that bad, the situation would also become very deadly.

"You're right." 5 sighed. He knew if things got worse, 6 might not be able to last much longer, where ever he might be. It wouldn't be that different for them ether. Still, the idea of just abandoning 6 was haunting- that was to say if a blizzard did start up. "I just wish we knew where to look."

"Would it be someplace with paper?" 9 suggested. "You know, someplace where he might be able to draw?"

"Come on, 9." 7 spoke up. "There's hardly any places like that, and the only one I'm aware of is the library. Paper has always been stocked there."

"Paper you say." 5 muttered to himself. Thinking it over, it was almost unthinkable that 6 could draw without paper. Then again, all of this- 6 running away- seemed unthinkable. Would he have possibly taken any paper with him when he left? There were two key things the artist needed to draw; ink and paper. There was a chance that he had considered this, but that was besides the point. The point was that 9 had been slightly correct; 6 might have taken off to someplace where there was paper and ink. Such a place would have to be quiet, for 6 liked humming to himself and he enjoyed peace and quiet.

5 first thought of the cathedral, but that was out of the question. That place that 1 had called a 'Sanctuary' had burned down when the Winged Beast attacked. It had been destroyed when it was smashed to bits by a propeller of a plane that had crashed through the roof a long, long time ago- back during the war probably. It had burned then, and the smoldering ruins remained. All of 6's drawings, all his hard work, had perished in the fire. They had been devoured by the flames and burned to ashes. There was no use in going back to that place, even 6 knew that. At the time, even when that striped stitchpunk was happily running around trying to catch the ashes that flittered down- only to fade away in his hands- he was terribly upset. That first drawing 6 had done of the 'Source' was his first attempt to rebuild what he had lost.

Then the guide remembered something 6 had told him once; a tale of after he was created. In the Scientist's house, in the First Room, 6 drew many things. His visions came and he would draw them. The Scientist supplied the 6 with paper and ink, for which he was grateful. 6 had told 5 that he accepted his clairvoyance. The artist remarked that he never knew when he left that place, only that he was alone and something frightened him. That was when he had wandered around in the midst of the war until the others found him, cold and scared. But any time before that, he almost always drew in the First Room; an observer.

'_6 left the library. There's no paper out here.' _5 thought all of this over, going through the possibilities. 9 had indirectly struck a clue, the key word being 'paper'. _'If he went somewhere with paper, the cathedral is not an option. The only other place I can think of is…'_

"That place." 5 said aloud.

9 and 7 looked at him with confusion. "What? What are you talking about?" The savior spoke up.

"6 told me once that, back when he was first created, he would draw all the time and the Scientist would give him a constant supply of paper and ink." The guide explained. "There sure was plenty of paper around there, from what I can remember. Stacks of it, many notebooks."

"So, what you're saying is that 6 could of gone back to that house?" 7 asked.

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know if he would of gone there or not, but it's the best lead we have at the moment."

It was then that 9 chuckled slightly and grinned. "Then we must go back…to the First Room."

7 stared at 9 before punching him lightly in the arm. "I remember when you used to say that. Just like old times."

"Yeah, except we're not being hunted."

And they all shared a laugh.

* * *

6's breath was turning white in the air as he trudged along through the snow. It was just coming down a little harder now, but not so much that it was no longer an innocent snowfall. Yes, it was still that, but the artist knew that it could change faster than he could think. He constantly rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm himself up, shaking all the while.

"C-c-cold." He muttered, no one being able to hear him but himself. The temperature had certainly gotten colder, so that much was a given.

As he walked- in knee deep snow- 6 tried to sort out his thoughts. He was becoming confused, possibly from the cold. He hadn't anticipated the snow, and not even a vision had warned him- not like it would have. However, when it came down to it, 6 was the most sensitive to conditions like this. And now everything he had done up till this point had seemed like an irrational decision. Yet, the seer didn't exactly feel any regret, just hurt. The cold was biting at him continuously, like something was trying to burrow underneath his flannel skin. That was the problem 6 had with winter, though an irony of his own skin did these ice-like winds penetrate him and freeze him from the inside out; and flannel was supposed to keep you warm! Irony. He was aware of that cruel irony. Such an intolerance to cold temperatures was something 6 had been created with.

Unconsciously, 6 touched his damaged wrist again, but he didn't notice at first because there was no feeling there. He raised his wrist up to his line of slight and gingerly touched it; nothing. That was another problem, and it wasn't just his wrist now. Over the past hour and a half 6 had walked along in the snow since his little emotional breakdown, a numb feeling had begun to spread from his wrist, into his hand and up his arm. Only this morning has the numbness been centered in his cut wrist. As it stood now, 6 could barely flex in fingers in his left hand. Any feeling in his arm was nearly gone too. To this numb feeling, the artist had no idea what was going on with him, and he hoped it didn't spread any further than it already has…Whatever it was…

"I-I wonder." 6's voice trembled in the cold. "What c-c-could this be?"

He remembered when the twins had catalogued an old medical handbook. 6 already had knowledge- or at least assumed- that humans suffered in the cold as much as the stitchpunks did. He didn't exactly know there were illnesses associated with the cold, not just the common ailments of the humans. There were such things as frostbite, pneumonia, and hypothermia. All three were very serious, in a human sense. Frostbite involved the limbs growing so cold that there were effects such as skin turning black and loss of said limbs. Pneumonia was like a human cold almost, but a hundred times worse; rather, a lung infection. Hypothermia was when the body temperature dropped too low in a person. 6 concluded that this last one was something that would come close to being something to actually exist for stitchpunks. Sometimes, they got fevers (not literal), which rose body temperature.

Ether way you slice it, up or down, nether held a good outcome.

Suddenly, 6 tripped up on something, sending him falling to the ground and covering him with snow. "Ow…"

He groaned, sitting up on his knees. He had to admit, he wasn't feeling all that well, but 6 shrugged and figured it was only the cold; nothing more. 6 once more looked up at the falling snow, falling all around him. The seer got up on shaky legs and brushed all the snow off him. At one point the noticed the white fluffiness was entangled in his hair, so he shook his head to brush it away. It worked, but caused his head to ache slightly. Ignoring this, he continued on walking.

After about 15 minutes, he reached the top of a pile of rubble and looked out onto the landscape. It was covered in this white snow, transforming it. 6 smiled gently, but it soon faded when he saw something familiar in the distance. It wasn't too far away, but it was there.

He could see the remains of the Scientist's house, where he had been created.

"I…went in a circle."

6 sighed with frustration. But of course, he did not know the area, so he had been bound to end up drawing back to this familiar place. The library wasn't far from the house ether, just a few miles or so. But he shook his head. He could not return; why go back to a place where he wasn't wanted? No one cared if he were there or not. It was as simple as that. He wasn't wanted, so there was no need to go back. 6 didn't want to return to the library…

Then, out of the blue, 6 felt a sudden tightening in his chest. He winced, but as soon as he drew in another breath, he started coughing again, but much worse. 6 absent-mindedly tugged at the key, as if it was choking him, but that didn't help. This feeling only constricted more, his body racked by pain. After what seemed like a hour of this fit, his coughs subsided, leaving 6 gasping for air; but he only drew more cold air into himself, chilling his body even further. Now this he knew was no random compression of his breathing- 6 knew it was something else, but he just couldn't determine what that was exactly. The only two things 6 was aware of were the numbness in his left arm and hand, and how achy he felt. Perhaps before he had stumbled over his own feet!

The artist's thoughts were becoming disorganized, conflicting now. He was reflection all of this now. The environment was so harsh. Snow was coming down and had marked the beginning of winter. In the satchel 6 carried, the ink bottle was half empty and there was hardly any paper left to use- but he picked up scraps from time to time. Soon though, he would run out and be forced to endure the pain of his visions as he tried to contain them. That would certainly lead to more problems besides the ones he already faced.

6 sighed and looked out into the distance. "Was all of this…? No…I am not wrong." Again, he was questioning his decision. It was ever so conflicting. "How can I go back? Can't lead them, so…so…" His hands grasped his head, as if searching for the answer. The artist knew he couldn't go back to a place where he wasn't needed, yet, at the same time, his heart seemed to be saying something entirely different.

6 looked up again and had started to walk along, but another cough shook him and this time, he did end up tripping over his own feet. This resulted in him tumbling down the rubble and landing roughly on the ground. Again, the snow seemed to burry him underneath it, but the seer managed to pick himself up and stand. He was lucky that the inkwell inside his bag didn't break.

"S-stupid c-c-cold…" 6 had to admit, he was feeling pretty miserable. That numbness in his left arm was annoying, his head throbbed, and he didn't know how long he could keep walking until he collapsed all together. The artist actually wished right now that he could just be warm, maybe sit around a fire- but he couldn't light one himself- till his small body soaked in all of the warmth. There was none out here though. There was no place to be warm. There were no blankets he could wrap himself up in. There was no one else out here but himself.

There was nothing out here but emptiness. And there was also a growing hole of emptiness and loneliness in his fragile heart.

"It hurts." 6 whispered, putting a shaky hand to his chest. He could faintly feel a mechanical heartbeat beneath the striped flannel. And to him, it seemed…slower than it should be…

A noise of gears then caught his attention, and whipping around, fearful of what that could be, he soon found out. Both his hands latched onto his key and his mismatched eyes widened in horror. 6 fearfully took a step back, but fell backwards into the snow.

"N-no…"

If it wasn't before, his heart now raced wildly, and the reason was clear.

Perched atop another pile of rubble, a machine was watching him carefully with one red eye.


	6. Rescue Me

**Hello~ Oh my gosh, this is the longest chapter yet...Well, because of this whole fight that's gonna go down! It took longer than expected. Actually I suck at fight scenes, but I kind of like this one. The last battle I wrote was for 'Generator Hearts' (Oh geez, I need to update that), and it turned out okay. Right now, I just want to say that this is the second to last chapter. So I hope you enjoy the length of this one. I personally like it. (and yes, I know 5,7, and 9 don't get much screentime this time around. -_-)**

**Thanks to lady of the wilds, and SkullWitch57 for the new reviews. **

**I do not own the movie 9 in any way.**

Chapter 6: Rescue Me

Red was the color of death, a symbol of it. The eyes of machines were red, and 6 would never be able to erase the intensity of one machine's single, giant, glowing eye.

This time, the Beast that looked down upon him was not the ever powerful and feared Fabrication Machine (B.R.A.I.N. as the humans called it). This one more so resembled the Cat Beast that had freely roamed the ruined landscape in the years before 9's arrival. This was not the Cat Beast though, this was another machine all together, one that 6 had never seen. The structure was similar to the Cat Beast, but the claws were sharper and its metal skeleton reinforced by at least two layers of steal. 6 was knowledgeable of the machines, but he was powerless in this situation he faced.

And he had no idea what to do. The artist just stood there, paralyzed with fear and clutching his key tightly.

The Beast watched him carefully before making a slight movement and suddenly pouncing, looking to make the striped stitchpunk its prey.

6 saw the outstretched claw and was able to dodge out of the way before the claws pierced his flannel skin. The Beast skidded and crashed into a nearby rusted cars that had collided long ago in the panic of the war. He got up onto his knees as the looked at the Beast shaking off the sudden impact into the rubble. It shook its mechanical head, the red eye flickering, before sharply returning its gaze to 6. He gasped and scrambled to his feet, taking a few panicked steps back.

The Beast growled and charged towards 6. The seer let out a terrified shriek and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. Snow flew up as he ran wildly on, trying to outrun his pursuer. Surely if this Beast caught him, there was a high chance he would be killed. 6 didn't want that. But how could he hope to outrun such a powerful looking Beast? All of the machines were powerful. One of them was even enough to brutally injure his family's warrior, 7; there was red patchwork on he back that was proof of that, and she had been scared.

From behind him, 6 heard the Beast jump and for a second he could see its shadow fly over him. He skidded to a stop when the Beast landed about seven feet in front of him. 6 could feel his mechanical heart beating franticly in his chest- so much that he felt like it would burst. His mind was a blank and he had no idea what to do. But then, he reached into the satchel, hands closing around the inkwell.

"Go away!" 6 shouted, as if he was screaming out to one of his nightmares. He pulled the inkwell from his satchel and threw it at the Beast. The inkwell shattered against the metal skull of the Beast, coating half of its head in ink. It staggered back from the force of the inkwell fling, trying to register the damage done. Droplets fell into the eye that was not red, blinding vision in that eye momentarily. The Beast shook its head, clearing the ink from it's non-red eye. The head of the Beast however, was now forever stained by ink, a huge black splatter on that side. Angry and irritated, the Beast cast a hard glare at the small stitchpunk that had dared to do such a thing, expecting to see that being frozen where he stood.

But 6 was not there. He had run away after throwing the inkwell at the Beast.

As for said stitchpunk, he was hiding behind a broken brick wall. He was trying so desperately to catch his breath, but the second he had hid from the Beast, 6 had once again been overtaken by a coughing fit. The artist's chest hurt from it. That was among any other problems though besides the lost inkwell- His body was still achy and his left arm and hand was still numb. Even more so, this Beast was a much bigger problem.

6 had no fighting experience what so ever. He was not like 7 who had killed the Cat Beast by lopping off its head. He wasn't like 9 who had oh-so-cleverly destroyed the Seamstress inside the factory, and then the Fabrication Machine later on after returning from the First Room. 6 had only slightly aided in the destruction of the Winged Beast, not when it was 5 who thought of starting the propeller of the crashed plane. 6 had given knowledge to 9 that led to the moment when the savior had slain the Fabrication Machine, but 6 had not fought. All 6 did all day was draw, and he had never touched anything remotely like a weapon in his life. 5 had a crossbow, 7 had a spear, 8 had his knives, 9 had his light staff- 6 had nothing. Everyone else had something to fight with (well, except maybe 1), but 6 had absolutely nothing.

In light of that, 6 had considered himself to be so weak, and that's what made him scared for his life right now.

"Help…" He quietly whispered.

All of a sudden, he was bathed in a bright red light, and 6 whipped his head up to lock gazes with the Beast that was hunting him. It had found him!

6 jumped up and started running again. This Beast was toying with him; Like a game of cat and mouse.

The artist tried scrambling up some rubble, but all this running and exertions of energy were stressing his joints, which had begun to feel a bit numb and stiff. His body was becoming slow and unfeeling…And cold. This made climbing especially difficult. The rubble wasn't that high, but 6 slipped from a patch of ice and tumbled down back into the snow on the other side. The tumble had caused slight tears in his 6's flannel skin, but there was no time to try and recover. The Beast jumped over the rubble and 6 quickly moved out of the way. He still stared wide-eyed at the Beast, one hand on the key.

He saw the claw coming and this time 6 was not able to avoid it. All 6 could feel was something sharp slicing through his shoulder and then the feeling of flying in mid air. All the air was knocked from his lungs when his body impacted something hard. 6 struggled to get up, weakened from the attack. And that was when he let out an agonized yell from the pain in his shoulder. He stopped suddenly, franticly glancing around to see if his position had been given away, but the Beast was no where in sight.

"Hiding. It's hiding." 6 muttered, pushing himself to his feet, looking yet again for another place to hide. 6 heard a noise from behind him and quickly found what looked almost like a tunnel. In the dim light, he figured, he could hide here and wait for the Beast to go away. He made a dash for the entrance and scooted back as far as he could, however that was when he noticed his shoulder; it was slashed, a cut right in the seams.

'_Now I know how 9 felt when this happened.' _He sighed and curled up into a ball, feeling totally miserable. For now, 6 was safe here, but he knew that this Beast would not stop until he was dead. If 6 didn't do something, he'd be killed by that. He needed help, but it was just him out here, no one else.

The seer closed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything that would help him. He was so weak. What could 6 possibly do to try and survive?

And then he saw something…inside his mind's eye, and his own eyes snapped open.

6 knew how to defeat the Beast.

* * *

The small group of three were about halfway to the Scientist's house, where they hoped to find 6 in the First Room. Snow was still falling around them, and they were getting slightly cold. But 5 stopped walking when he stumbled across something alarming in the snow.

"Um, guys," 7 and 9, who were ahead of him, stopped and looked back at the guide. "I think we have a problem."

"Besides the snow?" 7 was right; the snow was making it hard to walk. "What else could it be?"

"This." 5 pointed to something in front of him, and when the others came back to look at it, they realized what 5 was talking about.

"That's a machine's footprint." 9 said.

They all looked at one another, knowing that there was now the high possibility of a machine lurking around. Indeed there was a machine roaming around. All three of them knew that 6 would never stand a chance against it.

"We need to find him." 5 spoke, knowing the danger.

"Of course we will." 7 reassured him. "And even if we run into that Beast," She twirled a spear around in her hand. "we'll take it down."

"Come now. Let's get going." 9 said confidently.

At least they had to confidence that if they ran into this machine, they'd be able to take it down. 5 had a crossbow, 7 had a spear, and 9 could very well utilize his light staff. Between the three of them, they were very capable of taking down any machine Beast that came their way. That much had been proven during their own war against the machine might and the Fabrication Machine. Even before that 7- who had a long conflict with a certain machine- decapitated the Cat Beast that had captured 2.

The problem was if it got to 6 before they could find him. _If _they could find him.

* * *

6 had fled to the ruins of an old building, aware that the Beast was following him closely. 6 was frightened and nervous because not just the fact that he might be killed, but what he was about to do. It was something he had never done in his entire life.

6 was going to fight.

He had always shrunk back when conflict reared its head. He had no desire to get involved and he was far too weak to be involved. His voice was timid and his body was frail. Sure, the artist's signature hands were sharp pen nibs that could be considered weaponry, but such hands were never meant for fighting; they were meant for creating, drawing…leading… Things had changed though, and now that 6 was on his own without anything to hide behind, there was no time for a seconds thought. He had to defend himself.

The seer's hands nervously curled around a little weapon he had quickly made for himself. It was a safety pin tied to a metal rod. The point was sharp, so hopefully if he did end up launching a full-on attack on the Beast, stabbing it would at least do some damage, if any at all. Even a small puncture wound in the armor of the Beast might present an opening; at least that's what 6 thought anyway.

While this plan had been quickly thought of, the artist knew it was the only way he would win. He was up against a formidable enemy. Timing was key, and so was his movements, how silent and swift they were. 6's own footsteps in any environment were soft and light. Right now, even though his body was freezing in the cold, 6 could still maintain that ability. The snow around him helped too, even when it had gotten a bit deeper.

He approached the house and hid behind one of the pillars that were still in tact. 6 stood still against it and clutched his wrist- the same one he had cut. Something felt strange inside him at this moment, besides the cuts and the throbbing in his torn shoulder, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was surviving and escaping the clutches of that Beast. Carefully, he peered out from behind the pillar and his eyes caught a faint glimpse of it. Fearful it saw him, 6 moved back behind the pillar.

"Here. It's here." He breathed.

6 gathered his courage and picked up a small rock, not to heavy for him to hold up. From his position behind the pillar, he rushed out into the open and threw the rock at the Beast, trying to duplicate the same amount of force he used with the inkwell. His eyes narrowed at it as the Beast turned its mechanical head to him.

"I-I'm right here!" 6 yelled, not really used to having his voice so loud.

He did not need to raise his voice again, as this was the moment when he took off again to the inside of the building. The building was decaying fast and there could be places seen where there was falling rubble, which could be potentially dangerous in this environment. If a something large enough fell from above, it could very well crush 6 if he was caught in its falling path. Putting his new found stealth to work, 6 scrambled up a piece of machinery, constantly looking behind him to see if the Beast followed. Normally, something like that would be called paranoia, but not in a battle like this. For someone such as the striped stitchpunk, this was a matter of life and death.

But the Beast kept up with him swiftly, closing in with every second. 6 dived into a small pile of fabrics froze, not daring to move. It was nearby, close to finding him (though 6 was well hidden in the fabrics). His tiny frame shook, despite his will to stay without movement, and the artist was scared. To be hunted was terrifying, and 6 knew that much. During the second rise of the Fabrication Machine- aka, after the war with the humans- he may have continued on with his seemingly crazy ramblings and endless drawings of the 'Source', 6 had been frightened beyond belief. All the machines that hunted them, it had made 6 even more timid and frightened.

Now he was being hunted again; 6 was the target. The Beast had only one command to follow, a simple command that came from its dead master so long ago. Kill.

But something deep inside 6, past his fear, told him that now was the time to strike, to not be like a startled child afraid of the dark. He could do this- because 6 was meant to lead them.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he let any pent up frustration flow freely through him, turning into rage directed at this Beast. His hands curled tightly around the sharp, makeshift weapon the second he heard mechanical footsteps approach his hiding place. The Beast was right in front of him, so it was now or never. Letting out a cry 6 never knew he could voice, he jumped out of the fabrics and rushed at the Beast, the sharp point of his weapon pointed straight at it. As for his enemy, shockingly enough, it had no time to think. All it really saw was the tiny stitchpunk charging right for it.

Boldly, 6 jumped up and managed to stab the Beast in its shoulder joint. In turn, the Beast howled with the sudden pain. Oil that made the mechanical joints limber spewed from the puncture wound and into 6's face, dotting it with a few spots of oil. But he was blinded for a moment when the oil obstructed his vision, 6 yelped and squirmed, inadvertently pulling the weapon out and falling to the ground. The impact was harsh and left him gasping for breath, and the frigid winter air was not helping. Still, 6 wiped the oil away from his eyes and face, so now they looked like just ordinary ink stains. The second his vision cleared though, a huge claw- belonging to no one other than the Beast, was coming down on him.

Pupils widening, the artist rolled out of the way, but that didn't stop the sharp claw from clipping his side, nicking his ribcage. The second 6 felt that searing pain, he screamed, tightly pressing one hand to it. He scrambled to get up as the Beast growled again, and somehow 6 was able to get to his feet and start running further into the house.

He almost didn't see where he was going, because he suddenly skidded to a stop. In front of 6 was a giant gaping hole. Underneath this hole- a far ways down- was just a floor of stone. Perhaps this house had an old bunker or that was just a basement. If 6 fell down there, he would surely die, much less be hurt beyond belief to point of paralysis/being crippled for life. For a moment, he forgot that the Beast was just feet behind him and stared down into the gaping hole, darkness looming and reaching out. 6's fears came alive in the dark while he slept. At this time though, 6 was not asleep; he was very much awake.

He remained in this dazing thought- noting that he'd have to be careful- until he regained his senses and turned around to see the Beast coming for him again. The seer started to hesitantly take up a stance, but it was being much smarted this time and brought its claw down on him once again. This time, it had 6 pinned, right at the edge of the hole. His black, yarn hair flopped back and forth in empty space. 6 blinked at the enemy that looked down upon him, and he whimpered as the claw was pressed down on him harder.

"S-stop…!" He cried out, but it would not listen. He screamed again as the pressure created by the Beast's claw on his small body intensified. The claws had begun to tear in, but only left small rips in the fabric of his chest. Panting, he noticed the head of the Beast zooming in to look at 6's petrified expression. The seer knew what it wanted; it wanted to see the look on 6's face when he died. A fiery thought seemed to spark inside 6 when he noticed his weapon still laying in his trembling hand.

'_I'll be damned if I let this thing get the pleasure of killing me.' _His grasp around the weapon tightened, and, fueled by his rage, 6 whispered three words he'd never thought he would say in his life- simply because he was not like that.

"Go to hell."

Using the hand that held the weapon, his mustered up his strength and plunged the needle sharp point into the claw. Right away, the Beast drew back in pain. The claw lifted and air rushed into 6's lungs, filling them to their capacity. He took a huge gulp of air as a natural response to having fresh air replenishing this breathing. Now being able to move freely, 6 abandoned his weapon and dove for underneath the Beast. As he reached the back legs, the artist kicked one of the legs and took note of the ground he was on. It was iced over (it wasn't a wonder he didn't fall into the hole in the first place).

As the Beast spun around again, 6 grabbed hold of a fallen beam to keep himself from sliding around. On the other hand, the Beast was loosing footing and when it lost it all together, it was dangerously close to the edge of the hole. The edge that seemed like a cliff cracked and crumbled apart (which had been already fractured by 6 being pinned down by its claw earlier). Gravity took control and was quickly dragging the Beast into the darkness. The artist would of smiled, but at the last second, the Beast reached out for the striped stitch punk in an effort to take him down with it. The moment 6 saw this happen, he moved out of the way, but his satchel was caught, tearing it open and releasing his drawings. That was not so important at the moment.

Roaring at 6, the Beast disappeared over the edge. Seconds later, he heard a loud thud and clattering metal. For a moment, 6 lay there, breathing anxiously. He decided to get up; still silent. His pen-nibbed hands returned to the key for his own self-protection- as he always tugged on it and took it up in his hands when he was frightened or sad- and stared out into the now bigger hole. But the seer still needed one vital thing; confirmation.

Trembling from his aching body and fresh wounds, 6 made his way over to the hole and carefully peered down inside, keeping his distance from the edge. There, the Beast lay in a crumpled heap. It's red eye flickered, but it had fallen a great ways. It was dying.

"Is…it over?" 6 muttered aloud. Suddenly he heard a loud crack and he looked up at the roof. It was collapsing above the hole. 6 jumped back as a mess of rubble, rocks, and snow cam down into the hole. When the dust cleared, there was a white mist rising from the hole, possibly snow. He took one last look and sighed with relief.

The Beast would be dead by now.

"It's over…"

It was almost…unbelievable. 6, the seemingly crazy stitchpunk who could actually see into the future, had taken down a machine all by himself without any assistance. It had been him and him alone fighting for his life. 6 obviously was the weakest among his family, but today he had proven himself to them- no…To the world.

First, shock registered in 6's mind that he had actually done this. Then it made him giddy like a child. Oh how shocked and proud the others would be; that the weak little 6 with no fighting skills had taken down a machine Beast all by himself!

It made him happy to know that his efforts and triumph would have been rejoiced. But…there was no one to celebrate it with. He was not home, but in the middle of nowhere.

6's happiness faded as was replaced by a choked sob. "I don't know anymore."

He may have been victorious on this day, but 6 knew he still had nothing. Yet, he could feel his heart telling him something. He didn't really listen because it caused conflict to clash violently inside him.

This was a special memory though, so, without looking back, 6 walked away from the hole, out of the house, and back into the snowfall.

* * *

9 had found more footprints later on in their search. Their goal was to possibly locate 6 at the Scientist's house, the place where 9 awoke, but seeing more of these footprints changed their mind. It would be better to find the Beast and kill it before it got the chance to ambush them. The three had then proceeded to track the semi-visible footprints. The catch was that the snow was making it harder to see, thus, harder to track whatever Beast was out there. The snow would soon erase all evidence.

And that would come sooner than expected.

"It's no use. There's no more." 7 informed them, shaking her head.

"You know, it might have wandered off to a different area no where near here." 5 then said, but only because he didn't want to run into one. He afraid of them, but tried not to be- as they had been the reason he had only one eye. "Let's head back towards 'that place'."

"Um, 5." 9 spoke up. "Not to disappoint you, but the weather looks to be getting worse."

There was no denying that fact. "Yeah, looks like it." 7 said before looking over at 5 and 9. "We might have to turn back.

"Not till we find 6." 5 retorted, brimming with determination.

"5, I agree with you, but…" 9 couldn't finish it. "Okay. We can search for a bit longer."

And so they set off again, trying to find anymore evidence of the Beast. The evidence of any more footprints beside their own was seeming to be more and more impossible. And with the weather being this way, they would soon have to head back to the shelter of the library or risk getting caught in a blizzard, which could hold fatal results besides potentially getting lost.

After a few more minutes, they were about to give up and reluctantly head back home, but something was about to be found.

And it was 5 who discovered it.

In the snow, nearly covered, was a torn striped fabric. It had a slight ink stain, which meant it could only belong to one other person.

"9, 7, look at this." 5 called to his two companions. They were both beside the guide in seconds and saw the fabric that he had picked up. It was flannel. This was a part of 6's skin!

"6 was here." Said 9 at long last.

"But it looks as if the fabric was torn off." 5 gestured to the frayed ends.

"Maybe something tore his shoulder?" The savior joked, remembering how that had happened in his encounter with the Cat Beast.

Which resulted in 7 lightly punching him. "Knock it off. Some lowlife machine probably did this." She looked away. "I'm going to kill it if we find it."

"It's a matter of finding 6 first before worrying about that." 7 wasn't paying any attention to what 5 was saying though. "You think he might have escaped if it attacked him?"

"Hey, look." The two boys lifted their gaze from the fabric and looked off in the direction 7 was looking at. The warrior had spotted something vital; a big splatter of ink in the snow, maybe ten feet away.

They all exchanged glances before rushing off to examine it. While doing so, 9 had spotted footprints that were too small for anyone- anyone except for 6. There were black splattered dots following the footprints too, and they went in the direction of a crippling building. Hopeful, they followed until, once again, the trail ran dead cold.

Again, it seemed like another dead end. But that was only what they thought. The thought of leaving 6 out here to suffer- possibly from injury or the winter cold in general- for another day was painful. He had run away, and that had been quite the shock. But, he was needed…everyone needed him back. Because 6 was supposed to bed the one to lead them.

Then 5 found another link. There were a fresh set of footprints like the ones they had followed, and they now lead away from the building and somewhat back in the direction of the library.

There was hope once more.

"6 is somewhere nearby!"

* * *

The young artist's body shook with the feeble coughs that escaped him. It was getting harder to breathe. The landscape around him was starting to feel like and endless loop, no clear direction at all. His weapon was gone- along with that Beast-, the inkwell had been smashed in the fight, and he had abandoned his satchel. When the Beast had grabbed it before plummeting to its doom, it ripped the satchel and the drawings had been lost.

6 had forgotten it was snowing outside the building where the battle had taken place. But he felt like he was about to lose another- this one. At last, 6's knees buckled and his body gave out.

He fell back down to the snowy earth, gravity seeming to weigh heavily on him. The key around his neck felt heavier too as he struggled to get up. The seer knew he had to find shelter, quickly. Looking around, he saw what looked like a giant pipe, like the kind that goes under driveways. Half of it was blown away, probably by a bomb, but a piece of cardboard covered it. Weakly, he crawled over to into it and collapsed once more.

6 groaned in pain from having his injuries stressed, and the cold air nipping at his insides was not helping. It was impossible for his kind to become physicly sick, but at that moment, he was feeling quite ill. He shivered terribly, and as he did, at last he understood something- why he was so weak, even before the attack. His fragile body was being bombarded by the cold air, and as it leaked inside him and spread throughout, he would grow weak and his body temperature was probably dropping rapidly. These open wounds were nothing better, as the cold could easily get through the torn skin and penetrate him. Those two cuts on his wrist had been the beginning as the cold entered his body through there. That was the reason his entire left arm was now numb and unfeeling.

He was going to freeze to death. Alone and sad. Alone…

And the message this heart had been screaming finally broke though. "What…what was I thinking?!"

6 had foolishly left home, vowing never to return. How could he have abandoned his only home where his family lived, the people he cared about lived?! It was a stupid mistake. All nine needed to be together to protect the world and heal it. Each one of them had an important purpose, and 6's was 'to lead us'. All of this 6 was now regretting, because there were people who cared, who needed him. They were probably all worried sick about him! And to 6, his family was his everything. The drawings, the visions, his family…They were his everything. It was all he really cared about, helping his family and fulfilling his purpose.

And realizing his mistake…6 started to cry.

"I-I'm sorry! So s-s-sorry!"

Something suddenly glinted from nearby where he lay. Managing to turn his attention towards it, it glimmered again, and 6 reached out for it. Closing his hand around the object, it felt familiar. Drawing it back to his line of sight, the striped stitch punk saw that it was a beautiful sliver cross necklace (the cross itself was about the size of 6's hand).

A cross. It was part of human religion. While the stitch punks admired their creator, the humans had their own deity. There was a large form of religion called Christianity. They worshiped God. 6 knew this because their previous home had been the cathedral. Humans probably gathered there before the war. Among the many great symbols, the cross was one of them.

Perhaps, even though he was alone, God was watching over 6 at that very moment.

"L…" His words were freezing. "L-Lord…protect me…"

6 pulled the cross close to him. His eyes were drooping shut. Oh how his body commanded him to sleep; and 6 could not help but to give in.

He was so full of regret, and he wished he could of apologized to his family for everything.

He wanted to see them all again. 6 missed his family.

"Lord protect me."

Everything was fading to black, and snow flittered into this little cave and fell onto 6 as his eyes closed. He was still shivering. And he wished his tears were real.

'_I'm sorry…everyone. Forgive me…'_

And he fell into a cascading cold slumber, only darkness to welcome him.

**Okay, I just wanted 6 to say that last thing to the Beast XD (Cliffhanger here at the end too~)**


	7. Warm

**Wow, fast update! You know, since I have school starting tomorrow, I was working my butt off to get this done. I'm personally satisfied with this story. So, now you'll find out what happened to our dear 6, seeing as I left you guys on a cliffhanger last time.**

**Thanks to all who reveiwed and thanks to lady of the wilds, SkullWitch57, PoppyEMC.6-13, and eseiprahs1 for the reveiws on the last chapter.**

**I do not own the movie 9 in any way.**

**Enjoy the last chapter of Runaway~**

Chapter 7: Warm

Somehow, it wasn't as cold anymore. He couldn't hear the howl of the wind or even feel his insides shudder from contact with the chilling winter air. His body wouldn't move, but was relaxed and he certainly felt better. It was all very strange.

But the thought occurred to him, _'I am…Am I dead…?'_

"Mmph…" 6 was able to move his hand slightly, and- much to his surprise- it was his _left_ hand.

Last time 6 had checked, his left hand would not move at all. The winter winds had numbed it, having entered his body through the two self-inflicted cuts that had not been sewn shut since he cut his wrist. By the time the artist had defeated the Beast, his whole left arm had gone numb. Even before that though, the numbness had started in his wrist, them spreading up his arm and into his hand.

Speaking of anything cold related, 6 was feeling not so cold…but a bit warm.

The artist's body curled into itself, and that's when he felt a soft surface surrounding his form. It was soft and fuzzy, and somehow felt familiar. Even through this barrier of fabric, he could somehow feel a chilly draft, and it made him shiver slightly. Not as terribly as before when he collapsed. Maybe it was an illusion of his mind and 6 was only imagining being surrounded my this fabric surface- when in reality snow gathered around him as it fell down from the sky and the weather was drastically changing it.

What was going on around him anyway. The last thing 6 remembered was holding the cross he found close to the key- getting the small chain tangled around it- and whispering silently in his mind for his family to forgive him for leaving. 6 had known better than to try and fall asleep- for sleep in that situation would surely bring him death. His body would sink into a cold hibernation, then a coma, then death. Nothing would have been able to save him at that point.

Something was telling him that this was not a realm of death. He was not dead, but alive. Then if he was alive, where was he?

Shifting around again, 6 rolled his head of to the side to find the same surface that enveloped him lay beneath his head, but just a bit different. Oh how enjoyable it was. At that moment, he wanted to open his eyes to at least get a sense of where he was. They remained closed however, refusing to open. Whatever kind of sleep 6 had been put into, it seemed very much like he didn't want to wake. He didn't want to wake up from this pleasant warm sensation, only snuggle back into the fabric surface around him and drift back into slumber.

6 decided to open his eyes, despite the urge to go back to sleep. Slowly, his eyes clicked open, reluctant to taking in the light seeping in. The light was dim, so it didn't hurt his eyes. Wherever he was, nothing made sense at first. They spun in a slow motion blur, but then it cleared. As they all slowly came together, lines came into focus, objects taking form and becoming clearer. They were coming to a standstill, and everything around him finally took shape. It was a dim lit room with what looked like Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. 6 rolled over onto his back, his form feeling a bit heavy, to see a single one of these lights hanging above him. Glancing down at himself, 6 found that he was wrapped up in a blanket, cocooned possibly. It was still pleasant.

Thinking about his surroundings, the seer was finally able to figure out where he was, because he recognized it. He was inside the workshop back at the library. And 6 smiled weakly.

"He's awake. See, nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Back to our game now?"

"No, wait a minute. We have to make sure he's alright first. That's what 2 said."

Curious at those familiar voices, 6 rolled back over on his side- as he had been when he woke up- and was filled with joy to see that 5 and 9 were standing close by on the other side of the room. To 6, he sensed that there was obviously a brotherly bond between them, which was to be expected. 5 was the one who had found 9 on the brink of death after his brief fight with the Cat Beast. The two and been as close as brothers ever since. And 6 was glad both were part of the coven. The guide and the savior were a good combination.

"Hi." The striped stitchpunk muttered weakly.

5 and 9 smiled, walking over to where 6 lay and sat beside him on the bed. "How are you feeling?" The guide asked.

"Fine." 6 said, nodding a little. "Just a bit weak."

5 and 9 exchanged a look for a moment before 9 looked down at the seer. They both knew it would take a while for 6 to get his strength back, and they weren't in any shock of his current condition. It was normal, especially in this weather.

"You probably don't remember what happened, huh?"

"N-not really." There wasn't really much 6 could remember besides the moment before he collapsed in the snow. How much of there was a gap between that time and waking up? "It was just cold, and…and… I don't know."

"Well, um, it was…" 9 clearly remembered, but he wasn't sure how to go about it.

"We were searching for you." 5 spoke up, reaching over to ruffle 6's hair.

The artist seemed stunned, like he hadn't been expecting him to say that. "Y-y-you…were…?"

"Yeah. Me, 7, and 9 were out looking for you. And at that time we were tracking a Beast." He started to explain, memories coming back of that day. "But when we lost the trail, we found your footprints and followed them. We had been worried that the Beast had gotten to you, but, we followed the trail with hope. Soon enough…we found you."

"I…I don't remember." 6 muttered, not sure of what 5 was trying to tell him.

"You wouldn't. You were unconscious and shaking like a leaf when we found you. It looked as if you had collapsed in the cover of some rubble. That wasn't the alarming thing though; it was that I found that your body felt extremely cold and had fresh wounds all over it, not including two others- those were a bit older."

6 didn't say anything for a moment, hands shifting up to take hold of the key. But he decided to speak. "A-and? Go on."

"We tried waking you up." 9 spoke, taking over the conversation. "But you were unresponsive. Thankfully you were still breathing, but there was something wrong with it along with your low temperature and heartbeat. There was no way we could tend to you out there, so me and 5 and 7 carried you back here as quickly as possible."

"See, the thing was, your body temperature had gotten so low, that you might have had something equivalent to hypothermia- which humans are prone to." 5 started again. "I'd imagine whatever happened to you only made things worse. Those injuries were a perfect way for the cold to render you helpless. When we brought you back here, your wounds were sewn up, and 2 said the only thing we could really do was keep you warm. It was pretty tense for a while, but your body temperature started to get back to normal."

"But…Still cold."

"I know. It's not fully there yet, and its going to take a while too. Had we not found you, there was a chance you could of died."

6 nodded. He understood, but he was thankful. They had been able to find him and save him from a cold death. He didn't even know they had been looking for him! He had just assumed that nobody noticed him leaving, that nobody cared if he did. He was wrong, which made the artist feel ashamed. Everything that had happened was all caused by a foolish mistake, the thought that no one needed him anymore.

"How long was I asleep?" 6 asked.

"About two days since we found you." 9 said. "Me and 5 were to keep an eye on you while you slept, so we've been playing this game called 'Checkers'. Humans used to play it a lot. We even made our own board and pieces since the ones humans use were too big for us."

"Oho~" The striped stitchpunk mused, obviously curious. "Teach me to play sometime."

"Okay. We will."

"Oh, I almost forgot about something." The guide said to 6. "Wait here."

5 got up from the bed and went over to another part of the workshop but when he came back, 6 couldn't help but to smile. It was the cross 6 had found before he had fainted.

"Cross."

"Here." He handed it over to the smiling artist, who sat up slightly so he could take it. "You were holding onto it when we found you. I don't know if you were aware of this, but we couldn't really pry it from your hands until we got back to the library. It was like you didn't want to let go of it."

"A treasure." 6 muttered. "Symbol. Religion of Christianity. God."

"A treasure, huh? Well It was important in human culture regarding that religion. Do you remember the angels on the windows of the cathedral?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Maybe those were symbols of that religion too."

"Perhaps." Sitting up as he was, 6 could now partially get a look at the stitches that adored his striped body. However, 6 couldn't really see anything. "No stitching."

"Well, you can't really see it." 5 pointed out. "We used a thread that blended well with your skin; It should be barely noticeable."

"You're right."

"It's kind of odd though. Those tears in your skin looked like something a Beast would do. Oh well, it's probably off wandering somewhere. 7 will probably cut its head off if she sees it."

6's smile got wider. "Don't have to worry about it."

"What do you mean?"

The seer laughed. "I killed it!"

Both 5 and 9 looked at the smiling 6, both their eyes- or eye in 5's case- wide.

"You?" 9 asked, stunned. "You killed it?!"

6 nodded vigorously. "Yes! I made a weapon, and lead it into a ruined house. I landed two puncture wounds! In the house, there was this giant hole, and I tricked the Beast into falling in. It almost got me at the last minute, but I really did kill it!"

That was a bit of a shock. 6 was not a good fighter and was at a great disadvantage when it came to the machines. But, yet here he was, saying how he took on one all by himself and emerged victorious. It was hard to believe, but with the evidence of the machine footprints in the snow that lead toward what could have been that very same house 6 fought it in, and his own footprints heading in the same direction before veering off, there was no denial. 6 was telling the truth.

"That…That is…" 5 started.

Suddenly, 6 looked dejected. "Y-you don't…believe me?"

"No! Of course we believe you! It's just so…incredible! "

"That's so awesome!" 9 joined in, taking a turn at ruffling 6's yarn hair "That you took down a Beast all by yourself."

At least someone believed him. "Thank you…" Before 6 could say anything else, a wave of dizziness came over him and 6 had to hold a hand to his head. "Ngh…"

"You okay?" 9 asked, worried for his friend also.

"I'm fine. Light-headed."

"Maybe you should rest some more." 5 suggested, gently taking the cross back from 6 as he lay down. "You really need it."

6 just closed his mismatched eyes and curled up in the sheets. He could sleep well now, knowing that someone cared for him; 5 and 9. It was so uplifting.

5 and 9 smiled down at the artist as he soon drifted off to sleep again. And so, they got up from the bed and went to finish their game of Checkers.

* * *

Ironicly, the next day, 6 was feeling almost completely better. Though he had slept the majority of the day away. When he did wake, it was sometime late that afternoon. 6 took a few moments to gather himself, having been resting from the whole ordeal, and then took to the sole thing he loved the most; drawing. 6 silently retrieved some paper and ink, setting them both on his bed and next to the cross that 6 kept, and started to create the things no one else in this world could see. What a lonely curse this was to carry, but he wasn't alone. Not anymore.

The picture he was drawing, it was one that made his heart soar. With all that happened, 6 was never happier to be here, where he belonged. Even if he did end up having a relapse of those dark bitter feelings that convinced him to purposely cut himself and then run away, 6 would never leave them again. He may not be able to lead, as his purpose said, but he needed to be here. There was still much work to be done for this healing earth after all.

When he heard footsteps from outside the room though, 6 quickly hid the new drawing under a fresh sheet of paper and started drawing a different picture instead. He wasn't hiding anything, he just wanted it to be a surprise.

Once again, just like before 6 had left, it was only 5. The guide had proven to be a rather reliable stitchpunk, and he had lived up to his purpose, 'to guide us'.

"Hi, 5." The artist said, showing a small smile.

"Hey there." 5 responded, walking over to sit next to him on the bed. "What are you drawing?"

"A tree. What they used to be. Before the war."

As he watched his friend draw what looked to be a tree- before the days of the war- 5 was just glad that 6 was feeling better. It seemed pretty certain that 6 had run away of his own free will, and finding him on the brink of death during that snowfall was terrifying. All that matter right now is that he was safe; none of this colony could afford to lose even a single one of them. Everyone was valued and important. That was where the line seemed to become blurry for 6, who might of left with the conclusion that no one needed him. 5 wanted to know those reasons, not just to help a friend, but his little brother too.

"6," He started.

"Yes?"

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but…Listen, I kind of pieced it together, but I just wanted to confirm it." He tried to glance over at 6, who was still drawing away. "You did run away, didn't you?"

The strokes 6 created from his fingertips flowed slower, but he still kept drawing the tree. "Yes. That's true."

"Mmm. Why did you leave?"

"Unwanted. A nuisance. I'd just get in the way. No one needed me." The artist shook his head at that. "But that's a mistake! I was wrong. So…don't worry. I'm better. I belong here."

His single eye then fell to the stitches on 6's left wrist. Those two had been sewn up, but they were odd. When they had found 6, the wounds on his body were fresh, probably that Beast that he had been somehow destroy. These two in particular were a bit older than that. There were scratches all over him, but those had most likely been any sharp claw of that Beast catching his skin every time he tried to dodge an attack. Ether that or he fell down through some rubble. Still, those two cuts were too close together. They couldn't of been from any accidental fall. Not even a Beast would have been able to do that.

Which left one horrible option 5 didn't even want to think about.

"Right. Just one last thing I want to ask. Those two cuts on your wrist- How did you get them?"

6 stopped drawing, his hands frozen in suspension a few inches above the paper. In no way possible had he been expecting that. Ever since finding that the two cuts of his damaged wrist had been healed, he ignored it. No one asked, no one wondered. So 6 would not give them the answer. Even back before he ran away, he was desperate to hide his injury. 6 just didn't want anyone to know that they were self-inflicted wounds.

"Just…did. They happened." 6 didn't want to continue with this subject.

"How exactly?"

Damn. He wouldn't be able to avoid it. "I did it. I-I-I cut myself with a shard of glass."

5 grimaced. That's the answer he was afraid of. The thought of 6 wanting to do that to himself was just awful.

"6, why would you-"

"I'm sorry!"

"Wha-" But before he could comprehend, 5 was tackled into a hug by 6.

"So sorry! Didn't mean to! It was just that I…" He couldn't continue on and broke down into sobs, his body trembling.

Suddenly 5 felt a bit guilty. "Shh. Calm down, 6. You're okay." Gently, he eased the tortured artist off of him and back onto the bed. "Relax."

It felt good to at least someone by his side. 6 was unconsciously begging for forgiveness. He sniffled a little bit before looking downward. "I was feeling terribly upset. It was just…hard for me. Couldn't take it anymore."

He thought back to the day when he found the seer huddled under a blanket in his room, claiming he was fine. That must have been…when it happened. 6 must not have wanted to scare the guide with what he had done to himself. Everything made sense now, and all 5 could really do was comfort his broken friend.

"You don't need to feel sad any more." 5 said with a gentle smile. "You have us, all of us."

"I'm sorry." He said again.

"You don't have to apologize. You're prefect the way you are."

"But…" 6 glanced up at 5. Oh how heart-warming it was to hear those words. "I can't lead. I'm supposed to, but I can't."

"Nonsense. You _can_ lead. That's your purpose. And we all need you."

His mismatched eyes widened and then, he smiled. "Oh…Th-thank you…" Suddenly, 6 grabbed the drawing underneath the one of the tree. "Here!"

"Huh? What's this?"

5 looked over the picture, realizing that it was a drawing of all of them. He quickly located 6 in the picture, and he was smiling.

"For all of you." 6 said. "Family."

It was a beautiful drawing. And 5 was happy 6 had shown it to him. "Thanks."

"Go. Show it to them."

"Huh?" 5 was confused. "But, 6, this is your work. You should be the one to-"

"You do it. Tell them it was me."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just drawing as always. Thank you, 5."

He nodded and stood from the bed, ruffling 6's hair. This was a unique gift that could of only come from the artist himself. And after everything he had been through, it was his own way of saying thanks; for giving him a home and friends.

5 couldn't wait to show the others.

Meanwhile, once 5 left, 6 had grown tired again. After he finished the drawing of the tree, he set everything else aside on the floor and lay down in his bed, wanting to sleep.

But he would be okay now.

He had friends who cared about him. A family who needed him.

It was okay.

Everything was okay.

6 was home.


End file.
